War Poetry 

The French Soldier and His Bayonet 

Farewell, my wife, farewell, Marie, 
I am going with Rosalie. 

You stand, you weep, you look at me— 
But you know the rights of Rosalie, 

And she calls, the mistress of men like me! 
I come, my little Rosalie, 

My white-lipped, silent Rosalie, 
My thin and hungry Rosalie! 

Strange you are to be heard by me. 
But I keep my pledge, pale Rosalie! 

On the long march you will cling to me 
And I shall love you, Rosalie; 

And soon you will leap and sing to me 
And I shall prove you, Rosalie; 

And you will laugh, laugh hungrily 
And your lips grow red, my Rosalie; 

And you will drink, drink deep with me. 
My fearless flushed lithe Rosalie! 

Farewell, O faithful far Marie, 
I am content with Rosalie. 

She is my love and my life to me. 
And your lone and my land—my Rosalie! 

Go mourn, go mourn in the aisle, Marie, 
She lies at my side, red Rosalie! 

Go mourn, go mourn and cry for me. 
My cry when I die will be ‘Rosalie!’