LES BEAUTÉS DE LA GUERRE
Folk who do not understand them.
On the Way to Calais
They are coming, like a tempest, in their endless ranks of grey,
While the world throws up a cloud of dust upon their awful way;
They’re the glorious cannon fodder of the mighty Fatherland,
Born to make the kingdoms tremble and the nations understand.
Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! the cannon fodder come
Along their way to Calais; (God help the hearth and home.)