The Man He Killed

by Thomas Hardy

Had he and I but met    By some old ancient inn, We should have set us down to wet    Right many a nipperkin!     But ranged as infantry,    And staring face to face, I shot at him as he at me,    And killed him in his place.     I shot him dead because—    Because he was my foe, Just so: my foe of course he was;    That's clear enough; although     He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,    Off-hand like—just as I— Was out of work—had sold his traps—    No other reason why.     Yes; quaint and curious war is!    You shoot a fellow down You'd treat, if met where any bar is,    Or help to half a crown. You know when if under different circumstances, you think you could be friends with someone?