A Ballad Of Buttonry

Clothes and the Man I sing. Reformers, note     These of the Subaltern who owned a Coat.     He was what veterans miscall, for short,     By that objectionable term, a wart:[1]     The Coat an item of the 'sealed' attire     Wrung from his helpless but reluctant sire;     Also the tails were long; and, for the pride     Thereof, were buttons on the after-side;     Majestic orbs, whose gilded obverse bore     The bossy symbol of his future corps.     The youth, ere sailing for a distant land,     Did, in the interval, receive command     To join a 'Course,' where men of grave repute     Instruct the young idea how to shoot.     Thither he sped, and on the opening day     Rose, and, empanoplied in brave array,     (Ample of flowing skirt, and with great craft     And pomp of blazoned buttonry abaft)     Won to the mess, and preened his fledgling plumes     Both in the breakfast and the ante-rooms.     Awhile he moved in rapture, and awhile     Thrilled in the old, inevitable style     To that stern joy which youthful warriors feel     In wearing garments worthy of their zeal;     Then came the seneschal upon the scenes,     And knocked his infant pride to smithereens.     For out, alack! the Fathers of the mess     Strictly prohibited that form of dress,     Being by sad experience led to find     Disaster in the buttonry behind,     Which tore and scratched the leather-cushioned chairs,     And cost a perfect fortune in repairs!     It was a crushing blow. That Subaltern     Discovered that he had a lot to learn;     Removed his Coat, and laid it, weeping, in     Its long sarcophagus of beaten tin:     Buried it deep, and drew it thence no more;     Finished his Course, and sought an alien shore.     So runs the tale. I had it from the youth     Himself, and I suppose he told the truth.     (The words alone are mine; I need but hint     That his were too emotional for print.)     And as in India, though the chairs are hard,     His Coat - delicious irony - is barred;     Being designed for cooler zones, and not     For one inadequately known as 'hot';     And, furthermore, as bold Sir Fashion brings     Changes, yea, even to the soldier's things:     He questions if the Coat were worth the price,     Seeing that he will hardly wear it twice.