BILLETS
(Dedicated to the gallant peasants of sunny France, who own them, and the officers of the A.E.F. who made the selection for the proletariat.)
I’ve slept with horse and sad-eyed cow,I’ve dreamed in peace with bearded goat,I’ve laid my head on the rusty plow,And with the pig shared table d’hôte.I’ve chased the supple, leaping fleaAs o’er my outstretched form he sped,And heard the sneering rooster’s crowWhen I chased the rabbit from my bed.I’ve marked the dog’s contented growl,His wagging tail, his playful bite;With guinea pig and wakeful owlI’ve shared my resting place at night,While overhead, where cobweb laceLike curtains drapes the oaken beams,The spiders skipped from place to placeAnd sometimes dropped in on my dreams.And when the morning, damp and raw,Arrived at last as if by chance,I’ve crawled from out the rancid strawAnd cussed the stable barns of France.And sometimes when the day is doneAnd lengthening shadows pointing long,I dream of days when there was sunAnd street cars in my daily song.But over here—ah! what a change,The clouds are German-silver lined—Who worries when we get the mange?What boots it if our shoes are shined?The day speeds by and night againLooms up a specter grim and bare;We trek off to the hen house thenAnd climb the cross barred ladder there—Another biologic nightSpent in a state sans peace, sans sleep;And as I soothe some stinging bite,I mark the gentle smell of sheep,The smell that wots of grassy dell,Of hillsides green where fairies dance....The vision’s past—I’m back in hell,An ancient stable barn of France.We’ve slept with all the gander’s flock,By waddling duck we’ve slumbered on—In fact, we’ve slept with all the stock,And they will miss us when we’re gone.We’ve seen at times the nocturne eyesOf playful mouse on evening spree,And the coastwise trade at night he pliesWith Brother Louse on a jamboree.We’ve scratched and fought with foe unseen,And with the candle hunted wideFor the bug that thrives on Paris green,But cashes in on bichloride.Perchance may come a night of stars,Perchance the snow drift through the tile,Perchance the evil face of MarsPeeks in and shows his wicked smile;’Tis then we dream of other daysWhen we were free and in the dance,And followed in the old time ways,Far from the stable barns of France.
I’ve slept with horse and sad-eyed cow,I’ve dreamed in peace with bearded goat,I’ve laid my head on the rusty plow,And with the pig shared table d’hôte.I’ve chased the supple, leaping fleaAs o’er my outstretched form he sped,And heard the sneering rooster’s crowWhen I chased the rabbit from my bed.I’ve marked the dog’s contented growl,His wagging tail, his playful bite;With guinea pig and wakeful owlI’ve shared my resting place at night,While overhead, where cobweb laceLike curtains drapes the oaken beams,The spiders skipped from place to placeAnd sometimes dropped in on my dreams.And when the morning, damp and raw,Arrived at last as if by chance,I’ve crawled from out the rancid strawAnd cussed the stable barns of France.And sometimes when the day is doneAnd lengthening shadows pointing long,I dream of days when there was sunAnd street cars in my daily song.But over here—ah! what a change,The clouds are German-silver lined—Who worries when we get the mange?What boots it if our shoes are shined?The day speeds by and night againLooms up a specter grim and bare;We trek off to the hen house thenAnd climb the cross barred ladder there—Another biologic nightSpent in a state sans peace, sans sleep;And as I soothe some stinging bite,I mark the gentle smell of sheep,The smell that wots of grassy dell,Of hillsides green where fairies dance....The vision’s past—I’m back in hell,An ancient stable barn of France.We’ve slept with all the gander’s flock,By waddling duck we’ve slumbered on—In fact, we’ve slept with all the stock,And they will miss us when we’re gone.We’ve seen at times the nocturne eyesOf playful mouse on evening spree,And the coastwise trade at night he pliesWith Brother Louse on a jamboree.We’ve scratched and fought with foe unseen,And with the candle hunted wideFor the bug that thrives on Paris green,But cashes in on bichloride.Perchance may come a night of stars,Perchance the snow drift through the tile,Perchance the evil face of MarsPeeks in and shows his wicked smile;’Tis then we dream of other daysWhen we were free and in the dance,And followed in the old time ways,Far from the stable barns of France.
I’ve slept with horse and sad-eyed cow,I’ve dreamed in peace with bearded goat,I’ve laid my head on the rusty plow,And with the pig shared table d’hôte.I’ve chased the supple, leaping fleaAs o’er my outstretched form he sped,And heard the sneering rooster’s crowWhen I chased the rabbit from my bed.I’ve marked the dog’s contented growl,His wagging tail, his playful bite;With guinea pig and wakeful owlI’ve shared my resting place at night,While overhead, where cobweb laceLike curtains drapes the oaken beams,The spiders skipped from place to placeAnd sometimes dropped in on my dreams.And when the morning, damp and raw,Arrived at last as if by chance,I’ve crawled from out the rancid strawAnd cussed the stable barns of France.
I’ve slept with horse and sad-eyed cow,
I’ve dreamed in peace with bearded goat,
I’ve laid my head on the rusty plow,
And with the pig shared table d’hôte.
I’ve chased the supple, leaping flea
As o’er my outstretched form he sped,
And heard the sneering rooster’s crow
When I chased the rabbit from my bed.
I’ve marked the dog’s contented growl,
His wagging tail, his playful bite;
With guinea pig and wakeful owl
I’ve shared my resting place at night,
While overhead, where cobweb lace
Like curtains drapes the oaken beams,
The spiders skipped from place to place
And sometimes dropped in on my dreams.
And when the morning, damp and raw,
Arrived at last as if by chance,
I’ve crawled from out the rancid straw
And cussed the stable barns of France.
And sometimes when the day is doneAnd lengthening shadows pointing long,I dream of days when there was sunAnd street cars in my daily song.But over here—ah! what a change,The clouds are German-silver lined—Who worries when we get the mange?What boots it if our shoes are shined?The day speeds by and night againLooms up a specter grim and bare;We trek off to the hen house thenAnd climb the cross barred ladder there—Another biologic nightSpent in a state sans peace, sans sleep;And as I soothe some stinging bite,I mark the gentle smell of sheep,The smell that wots of grassy dell,Of hillsides green where fairies dance....The vision’s past—I’m back in hell,An ancient stable barn of France.
And sometimes when the day is done
And lengthening shadows pointing long,
I dream of days when there was sun
And street cars in my daily song.
But over here—ah! what a change,
The clouds are German-silver lined—
Who worries when we get the mange?
What boots it if our shoes are shined?
The day speeds by and night again
Looms up a specter grim and bare;
We trek off to the hen house then
And climb the cross barred ladder there—
Another biologic night
Spent in a state sans peace, sans sleep;
And as I soothe some stinging bite,
I mark the gentle smell of sheep,
The smell that wots of grassy dell,
Of hillsides green where fairies dance....
The vision’s past—I’m back in hell,
An ancient stable barn of France.
We’ve slept with all the gander’s flock,By waddling duck we’ve slumbered on—In fact, we’ve slept with all the stock,And they will miss us when we’re gone.We’ve seen at times the nocturne eyesOf playful mouse on evening spree,And the coastwise trade at night he pliesWith Brother Louse on a jamboree.We’ve scratched and fought with foe unseen,And with the candle hunted wideFor the bug that thrives on Paris green,But cashes in on bichloride.
We’ve slept with all the gander’s flock,
By waddling duck we’ve slumbered on—
In fact, we’ve slept with all the stock,
And they will miss us when we’re gone.
We’ve seen at times the nocturne eyes
Of playful mouse on evening spree,
And the coastwise trade at night he plies
With Brother Louse on a jamboree.
We’ve scratched and fought with foe unseen,
And with the candle hunted wide
For the bug that thrives on Paris green,
But cashes in on bichloride.
Perchance may come a night of stars,Perchance the snow drift through the tile,Perchance the evil face of MarsPeeks in and shows his wicked smile;’Tis then we dream of other daysWhen we were free and in the dance,And followed in the old time ways,Far from the stable barns of France.
Perchance may come a night of stars,
Perchance the snow drift through the tile,
Perchance the evil face of Mars
Peeks in and shows his wicked smile;
’Tis then we dream of other days
When we were free and in the dance,
And followed in the old time ways,
Far from the stable barns of France.