 | The taking of the flag and other recitations |  |
53
The Soldier and his Betrothed.
One dreams of his betrothed in France,
A dark-eyed girl with laughing glance,
And wonders if he soon shall meet
Her tender looks, her smile so sweet.
“Ah, ma Lucille,” with tears he cries,
“Fain would I see the glad surprise
Break the calm gaze of your dear eyes,
As with high hope I come once more,
Unwounded from the field of war.
Fain would I see your rippling curls,
More precious than those lustrous pearls
My gift to you—that sometimes deck
The stately beauty of your neck—
That on your bosom rise and fall,
White rivals of its whiteness, all
Eclipsed in utter loveliness.
A dark-eyed girl with laughing glance,
And wonders if he soon shall meet
Her tender looks, her smile so sweet.
“Ah, ma Lucille,” with tears he cries,
“Fain would I see the glad surprise
Break the calm gaze of your dear eyes,
As with high hope I come once more,
Unwounded from the field of war.
Fain would I see your rippling curls,
More precious than those lustrous pearls
My gift to you—that sometimes deck
54
That on your bosom rise and fall,
White rivals of its whiteness, all
Eclipsed in utter loveliness.
Fain would I see again that dress;
Its dainty hue of mellow brown
Sets off the clustering curls that crown
Your shapely head. Fain would I see
The happy village revelry
That joyous day which makes you mine—
When underneath the ancient vine
Around Saint Etienne's porch we pass
Just coming from the wedding Mass,
And leaving near to the altar stair
The curé with his silvery hair,
Low kneeling now in holy prayer,
To crave a blessing on us there,
His guileless, gladsome, saintly soul
As spotless as his pure white stole.”
Its dainty hue of mellow brown
Sets off the clustering curls that crown
Your shapely head. Fain would I see
The happy village revelry
That joyous day which makes you mine—
When underneath the ancient vine
Around Saint Etienne's porch we pass
Just coming from the wedding Mass,
And leaving near to the altar stair
The curé with his silvery hair,
Low kneeling now in holy prayer,
To crave a blessing on us there,
His guileless, gladsome, saintly soul
As spotless as his pure white stole.”
| The taking of the flag and other recitations | |