New forms may fold the speech, new lands
Arise within these ocean-portals,
But Music waves eternal wands,-

Enchantress of the souls of mortals!

So thought I,-but among us trod
A man in blue, with legal baton,
And scoffed the vagrant demigod,

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.
Nurse won't give me a glass,
But I see the folks as they pass
Shudder and turn away;

Turn away in distress
Mirror enough, I guess.

I'm gay! You bet I am gay;
But I wasn't a while ago.
If you'd seen me even today,
The darndest picture of woe,
With this Caliban 2 mug of mine,
So ravaged and raw and red,
Turned to the wall-in fine
Wishing that I was dead

What has happened since then,

Since I lay with my face to the wall,
The most despairing of men?

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;
The tripping of little feet;
The softest, tenderest sigh;

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!
A girl of such delicate grace;
Sixteen, all laughter and love;
As gay as a linnet, and yet
As tenderly sweet as a dove;
Half woman, half child-Fleurette.

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 ?" 5
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-

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.
And maybe 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.

And 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.
For me nevermore the bliss,

The thrill of a woman's kiss."

Then I stopped, for lo! she was there,
And a great light shone in her eyes.
And me! I could only stare,

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,
With her mouth like a scented flower,
And I thrilled to the finger-tips,
And I hadn't even the power
To say: "God bless you, dear!
And I felt such a precious tear
Fall on my withered cheek,
And darn it! I couldn't speak.

And so she went sadly away,
And I know that my eyes were wet.
Ah, not to my dying day

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
The General made a stand:
"My brave young fellow," he said,
"I would shake your hand."

So I lifted my arm, the right,
With never a hand at all;
Only a stump, a sight

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 "