The Street Sounds to the Soldiers Tread

 The street sounds to the soldiers' tread, 
And out we troop to see: 
A single redcoat turns his head, 
He turns and looks at me.
 

My man, from sky to sky's so far, 
We never crossed before; 
Such leagues apart the world's ends are, 
We're like to meet no more; 

What thoughts at heart have you and I 
We cannot stop to tell; 
But dead or living, drunk or dry, 
Soldier, I wish you well.

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