TO A DOUGHBOY
I watched you slog down a dusty pike,
One of many so much alike,
With a spirit keen as a breath of flame,
Ready to rise and ready to strike
Whenever the fitting moment came;
Just a kid with a boyish grin,
Waiting the order to hustle in
And lend your soul to the battle thrill,
Unafraid of the battle din
Or the guns that crashed from a hidden hill.
I watched you leap to the big advance,
With a smile for Fate and its fighting chance,
Sweeping on till the charge was done;
I saw your grave on a slope of France
Where you fell asleep when the fight was won.
Just a kid who had earned his rest
With a rifle and helmet above his breast,
Who proved, in answer to German jeers,
That a kid can charge a machine gun nest
Without the training of forty years.
I watched the shadows drifting by
As gray dusk came from a summer’s sky,
And lost winds came from beyond the fight,
And I seemed to hear them croon and sigh:
“Sleep, little dreamer, sleep tonight;
Sleep tonight, for I’m bringing you
A prayer and a dream from the home you knew;
And I’ll take them word of the big advance,
And how you fought till the game was through,
And you fell asleep in the dust of France.”