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 to 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 at 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 shone 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 Pall 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 dying day Will I forget, forget! Can you wonder now I am gay? God bless her, that little Fleurette! _Robert W. Service_ NOT TO KEEP They sent him back to her. The letter came Saying ... and she could have him. And before She could be sure there was no hidden ill Under the formal writing, he was in her sight-- Living.--They gave him back to her alive-- How else? They are not known to send the dead-- And not disfigured visibly. His face?-- His hands? She had to look--to ask, "What was it, dear?" And she had given all And still she had all--_they_ had--they the lucky! Wasn't she glad now? Everything seemed won, And all the rest for them permissible ease. She had to ask, "What was it, dear?" "Enough, Yet not enough. A bullet through and through, High in the breast. Nothing but what good care And medicine and rest--and you a week, Can cure me of to go again." The same Grim giving to do over for them both. She dared no more than ask him with her eyes How was it with him for a second trial. And with his eyes he asked her not to ask. They had given him back to her, but not to keep. _Robert Frost_ THE DEAD I