THE DOUGHBOY PROMISES
When you come back—Ah, ’twill be such returningAs only lips like mine can sanctify!Then will my arms, that ache with endless yearning,Find sweet surcease from the regret of learningTo give you up, if need there be, to die.Should you come backAged from the toil of fighting,Marred, it may be, though perfect you set out,What matters, so your heart has known no blighting,Your soul has met the test without affrighting?What is there, dear one, after that, to doubt!Oh, but you must come back to me, beloved!Wounded or no, you must come back.
When you come back—Ah, ’twill be such returningAs only lips like mine can sanctify!Then will my arms, that ache with endless yearning,Find sweet surcease from the regret of learningTo give you up, if need there be, to die.Should you come backAged from the toil of fighting,Marred, it may be, though perfect you set out,What matters, so your heart has known no blighting,Your soul has met the test without affrighting?What is there, dear one, after that, to doubt!Oh, but you must come back to me, beloved!Wounded or no, you must come back.
When you come back—Ah, ’twill be such returningAs only lips like mine can sanctify!Then will my arms, that ache with endless yearning,Find sweet surcease from the regret of learningTo give you up, if need there be, to die.
When you come back—
Ah, ’twill be such returning
As only lips like mine can sanctify!
Then will my arms, that ache with endless yearning,
Find sweet surcease from the regret of learning
To give you up, if need there be, to die.
Should you come backAged from the toil of fighting,Marred, it may be, though perfect you set out,What matters, so your heart has known no blighting,Your soul has met the test without affrighting?What is there, dear one, after that, to doubt!
Should you come back
Aged from the toil of fighting,
Marred, it may be, though perfect you set out,
What matters, so your heart has known no blighting,
Your soul has met the test without affrighting?
What is there, dear one, after that, to doubt!
Oh, but you must come back to me, beloved!Wounded or no, you must come back.
Oh, but you must come back to me, beloved!
Wounded or no, you must come back.
HE
When I come back,Beneath my helmet muddy,There’ll be a smile, stored through the strife, for you;There’ll be a kiss, tender and warm—aye, ruddyWith hint of Gallic skies, for my real buddy(That’s soldier talk, and soldier talk rings true).As I come back,Down the street flags adorning,Half seeing all the pomp for sight of you,Foretaste I’ll know of gladsome days a-borningFor us, come out of Night at last to MorningFrom the Long Trail that terminates for two.Oh, but I will come back to you, my Mother!Wounded? Why, no! ... I will come back!Arthur McKeogh, Lt., Inf.
When I come back,Beneath my helmet muddy,There’ll be a smile, stored through the strife, for you;There’ll be a kiss, tender and warm—aye, ruddyWith hint of Gallic skies, for my real buddy(That’s soldier talk, and soldier talk rings true).As I come back,Down the street flags adorning,Half seeing all the pomp for sight of you,Foretaste I’ll know of gladsome days a-borningFor us, come out of Night at last to MorningFrom the Long Trail that terminates for two.Oh, but I will come back to you, my Mother!Wounded? Why, no! ... I will come back!Arthur McKeogh, Lt., Inf.
When I come back,Beneath my helmet muddy,There’ll be a smile, stored through the strife, for you;There’ll be a kiss, tender and warm—aye, ruddyWith hint of Gallic skies, for my real buddy(That’s soldier talk, and soldier talk rings true).
When I come back,
Beneath my helmet muddy,
There’ll be a smile, stored through the strife, for you;
There’ll be a kiss, tender and warm—aye, ruddy
With hint of Gallic skies, for my real buddy
(That’s soldier talk, and soldier talk rings true).
As I come back,Down the street flags adorning,Half seeing all the pomp for sight of you,Foretaste I’ll know of gladsome days a-borningFor us, come out of Night at last to MorningFrom the Long Trail that terminates for two.
As I come back,
Down the street flags adorning,
Half seeing all the pomp for sight of you,
Foretaste I’ll know of gladsome days a-borning
For us, come out of Night at last to Morning
From the Long Trail that terminates for two.
Oh, but I will come back to you, my Mother!Wounded? Why, no! ... I will come back!Arthur McKeogh, Lt., Inf.
Oh, but I will come back to you, my Mother!
Wounded? Why, no! ... I will come back!
Arthur McKeogh, Lt., Inf.