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Robert W Service - Fleurette
Work rating: Low

The Wounded Canadian Speaks:

My leg? It`s off at the knee. 
Do I miss it? Well, some. You see 
I`ve had it since I was born; 
And lately a devilish corn. 
(I rather chuckle with glee 
To think how I`ve fooled that corn.) 

But I`ll hobble around all right. 
It isn`t that, it`s my face. 
Oh, I know I`m a hideous sight, 
Hardly a thing in place. 
Sort of gargoyle, you`d say. 
Nurse won`t give me a glass, 
But I see the folks as they pass 
Shudder and turn away; 
Turn away in distress . . . 
Mirror enough, I guess. 
I`m gay! You bet I am gay, 
But I wasn`t a while ago. 
If you`d seen me even to-day, 
The darnedest picture of woe, 
With this Caliban mug of mine, 
So ravaged and raw and red, 
Turned to the wall — in fine 
Wishing that I was dead. . . . 
What has happened since then, 
Since I lay with my face to the wall, 
The most despairing of men! 
Listen! I`ll tell you all. 

That poilu across the way, 
With the shrapnel wound on his head, 
Has a sister: she came to-day 
To sit awhile by his bed. 
All morning I heard him fret: 
"Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?" 

Then sudden, a joyous cry; 
The tripping of little feet; 
The softest, tenderest sigh; 
A voice so fresh and sweet; 
Clear as a silver bell, 
Fresh as the morning dews: 
"C`est toi, cest toi, Marcel! 
Mon frère, comme je suis heureuse!" 

So over the blanket`s rim 
I raised my terrible face, 
And I saw — how I envied him! 
A girl of such delicate grace; 
Sixteen, all laughter and love; 
As gay as a linnet, and yet 
As tenderly sweet as a dove; 
Half woman, half child — Fleurette. 

Then I turned to the wall again. 
(I was awfully blue, you see,) 
And I thought with a bitter pain: 
"Such visions are not for me." 
So there like a log I lay, 
All hidden, I thought, from view, 
When sudden I heard her say, 
"Ah! Who is that malheureux?" 
Then briefly I heard him tell 
(However he came to know) 
How I`d smothered a bomb that fell 
Into the trench, and so 
None of my men were hit, 
Though it busted me up a bit. 

Well, I didn`t quiver an eye, 
And he chattered and there she sat; 
And I fancied I heard her sigh — 
But I wouldn`t just swear that. 
And maybe she wasn`t so bright, 
Though she talked in a merry strain, 
And I closed my eyes ever so tight, 
Yet I saw her ever so plain: 
Her dear little tilted nose, 
Her delicate, dimpled chin, 
Her mouth like a budding rose, 
And the glistening pearls within; 
Her eyes like the violet: 
Such a rare little queen — Fleurette. 

And last last when she rose to go, 
The light was a little dim, 
And I ventured to peep, and so 
I saw her, graceful and slim, 
And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh 
How I envied and envied him. 

So when she was gone I said 
In rather a dreary voice 
To him of the opposite bed: 
"Ah, friend, how you must rejoice! 
But me, I`m a thing of dread. 
For me nevermore the bliss 
The thrill of a woman`s kiss." 

Then I stopped, for lo! she was there, 
And a great light whone in her eyes. 
And me! I could only stare, 
I was taken so by surprise, 
When gently she bent her head: 
"May I kiss you, sergeant?" she said. 

Then she kissed my burning lips, 
With her mouth like a scented flower, 
And I thrilled to the finger-tips, 
And I hadn`t even the power 
To say: "God bless you, dear!" 
And I felt such a precious tear 
Fall on my withered cheek, 
And darn it, I couldn`t speak. 

And so she went sadly away, 
And I know that my eyes were wet. 
Ah, not to my dyng day 
Will I forget, forget! 
Can you wonder now I am gay? 
God bless her, that little Fleurette!
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