Fleurette

 (The Wounded Canadian Speaks)

My leg? It's off at the knee.

Do I miss it? Well, some.
 You see
 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, 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 to-day,
 The darndest picture of woe,
With this Caliban 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.


That poilu across the way,
 With the shrapnel wound in his head,
Has a sister: she came to-day
 To sit awhile 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;
Clear as a silver bell,
 Fresh as the morning dews:
"C'est toi, c'est toi, Marcel!
 Mon frère, comme je suis heureuse!"

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?"
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 --
 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 knew 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!

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