Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/158

 132 MAURICE HEWLETT

Soldier, soldier, if by shot or shell

They wound him, my dear lad, my sweetheart O,

He'll lie bleeding in the rain

And call me, all in vain.

Crying for the fingers of his sweetheart O.

Pretty one, pretty one, now take a word from me :

Don't you grudge the life-blood of your sweetheart O.

For you must understand

He gives it to our land.

And proud should fly the colors of his sweetheart O.

Soldier, soldier, my heart is growing cold —

If a German shot kill my sweetheart !

I could not lift my head

If my dear love lay dead

With his wide eyes waiting for his sweetheart 0.

Poor child, poor child, go to church and pray,

Pray God to spare you your sweetheart O.

But if he live or die

The English flag must fly.

And England take care of his sweetheart O !

— Maurice Hewlett.

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