New forms may fold the speech, new lands Enchantress of the souls of mortals! So thought I,-but among us trod And pushed him from the step I sat on. Doubting I mused upon the cry, "Great Pan is dead!”—and all the people Went on their ways:-and clear and high The quarter sounded from the steeple. I've had it since I was born; And lately a devilish corn. (I rather chuckle with glee To think how I've fooled that corn.) But I'll hobble around all right. It isn't that, it's my face. Oh, I know I'm a hideous sight, Hardly a thing in place. Sort of gargoyle,1 you'd say. Turn away in distress I'm gay! You bet I am gay; What has happened since then, Since I lay with my face to the wall, Listen! I'll tell you all. 3 That poilu across the way, With the shrapnel wound on his head, Has a sister: she came today To sit a while by his bed. All morning I heard him fret: "Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?” Then sudden, a joyous cry; A voice so fresh and sweet; 1. Gargoyle. A grotesquely carved stone spout. 2. Caliban. A creature half man, half monster, in Shakespeare's The Tempest. 3. Poilu. French soldier. Clear as a silver bell, Fresh as the morning dews: "C'est toi, c'est toi, Marcel! Mon frere, comme je suis heureuse!" 4 So over the blanket's rim I raised my terrible face, And I saw-how I envied him! Then I turned to the wall again. All hidden, I thought from view, How I'd smothered a bomb that fell 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; 4. C'est toi, etc. It is you, it is you, Marcel! My brother, how happy am. 5. Malheureux. Unhappy man. But I wouldn't just swear to that. Such a rare little queen-Fleurette. And at last when she rose to go, 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 The thrill of a woman's kiss." Then I stopped, for lo! she was there, I was taken so by surprise, When gently she bent her head: "May I kiss you, sergeant?" she said. Then she kissed my burning lips, And so she went sadly away, Will I forget, forget! Can you wonder now I am gay? God bless her, that little Fleurette! 76 GRAND-PÈRE ROBERT W. SERVICE And so when he reached my bed So I lifted my arm, the right, Fit to appall. "Well, well. Now that's too bad! That's sorrowful luck," he said; "But there! You give me, my lad, The left instead " |