RHYMES OF FRANCE
We’vecalled you “Frogs” my hearties,With your regimental blue,And perhaps ’twas not through lovin’That we wished the name on you.But now that you have got itAnd it’s likely it will cling,There’s a chance that maybe somehowThere’s a meanin’ to the thing.Through four long fearful wintersIn your muggy Flanders bogs,You squatted—eating, sleeping,In your mud-holes, just like frogs.Like frogs whose spots are mingledWith each grass and stone and stick,You camouflaged your hiding—You were first to pull that trick.Like frogs you sat and squinted’Cross at Fritzie day by day,But you were ‘tout ’suite beaucoup’When you leaped into the fray.You left a heap of frogs’ legsIn the marshes where you soaked—Where tens and tens of thousandsOf your punctured Poilus croaked.We’ve called you “Frogs” my hearties,With your spattered rags of blue,With your stumps and scars and crutchesWhich you’ll carry till you’re through,But well you’ve shown your fitnessFor the rank you got by chance,And so—once more—here’s to you,Oh you dauntless Frogs of France!La Ferte, France,January, 1919.
We’vecalled you “Frogs” my hearties,With your regimental blue,And perhaps ’twas not through lovin’That we wished the name on you.But now that you have got itAnd it’s likely it will cling,There’s a chance that maybe somehowThere’s a meanin’ to the thing.Through four long fearful wintersIn your muggy Flanders bogs,You squatted—eating, sleeping,In your mud-holes, just like frogs.Like frogs whose spots are mingledWith each grass and stone and stick,You camouflaged your hiding—You were first to pull that trick.Like frogs you sat and squinted’Cross at Fritzie day by day,But you were ‘tout ’suite beaucoup’When you leaped into the fray.You left a heap of frogs’ legsIn the marshes where you soaked—Where tens and tens of thousandsOf your punctured Poilus croaked.We’ve called you “Frogs” my hearties,With your spattered rags of blue,With your stumps and scars and crutchesWhich you’ll carry till you’re through,But well you’ve shown your fitnessFor the rank you got by chance,And so—once more—here’s to you,Oh you dauntless Frogs of France!La Ferte, France,January, 1919.
We’vecalled you “Frogs” my hearties,With your regimental blue,And perhaps ’twas not through lovin’That we wished the name on you.But now that you have got itAnd it’s likely it will cling,There’s a chance that maybe somehowThere’s a meanin’ to the thing.
Through four long fearful wintersIn your muggy Flanders bogs,You squatted—eating, sleeping,In your mud-holes, just like frogs.Like frogs whose spots are mingledWith each grass and stone and stick,You camouflaged your hiding—You were first to pull that trick.
Like frogs you sat and squinted’Cross at Fritzie day by day,But you were ‘tout ’suite beaucoup’When you leaped into the fray.
You left a heap of frogs’ legsIn the marshes where you soaked—Where tens and tens of thousandsOf your punctured Poilus croaked.
We’ve called you “Frogs” my hearties,With your spattered rags of blue,With your stumps and scars and crutchesWhich you’ll carry till you’re through,But well you’ve shown your fitnessFor the rank you got by chance,And so—once more—here’s to you,Oh you dauntless Frogs of France!
La Ferte, France,January, 1919.