Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/197

 Rh

Then I turned to the wall again.

(I was awfully blue, you see,)

And I thought with a bitter pain:

"Such visions are not for me."

So there like a log I lay,

All hidden, I thought, from view,

When sudden I heard her say:

"Ah! Who is that malheureux?"

Then briefly I heard him tell

(However he came to know)

How I'd smothered a bomb that fell

Into the trench, and so

None of my men were hit,

Though it busted me up a bit.

Well, I didn't quiver an eye,

And he chattered and there she sat;

And I fancied I heard her sigh—

But I wouldn't just swear to that.

And may be she wasn't so bright,

Though she talked in a merry strain,

And I closed my eyes ever so tight,

Yet I saw her ever so plain:

Her dear little tilted nose,

Her delicate, dimpled chin,

Her mouth like a budding rose,

And the glistening pearls within;

Her eyes like the violet:

Such a rare little queen—Fleurette.

At last, when she rose to go,

The light was a little dim,

And I ventured to peep, and so

I saw her, graceful and slim,

And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh

How I envied and envied him!

So when she was gone I said

In rather a dreary voice

To him of the opposite bed:

"Ah friend, how you must rejoice!

But me, I'm a thing of dread.