Whom anxious folk sent forth to spy the foe,
But he came back and cried, "The lilac's out!
And that is all I know."
They ask me things about my picket,
And whether I'm in touch with whom;
I want to lie in yonder thicket,
I only wish to touch the bloom;
And when men agitate about their flanks
And say their left is sadly in the air,
I hear the missel-thrush and murmur, "Thanks,