Me!—a-leadin’ a column! Me!—that women have loved— Me, a-leadin’ a column o’ Yanks, an’ tracin’ Her name in the Stars! Me, that ain’t seen the purple hills before all mixed in the skies With the gray dawn meltin’ to azure there; Me, that ain’t a poet, growin’ poetic; An’ the flash o’ the guns on the skyline, An’ red wine—an’ France! An’ me laughin’—and War! An’ Slim Jim singin’ a song; An’ a lop-eared mule a-kickin’ a limber An’ axles ’thout no grease hollerin’ Maggie at me! Me, that women have loved— An’ War goin’ on! Mornin’ comin’, An’ me—a-leadin’ a column Along o’ them from the College, Along o’ them from the Streets, An’ them as had mothers that spiled them, and them as hadn’t,— Lovin’ names in the Stars, An’ Slim Jim singin’ a song, An’ Folks to Home watchin’ them, too, An’ Maggie that never had loved me, lovin’ me now, An’ thinkin’ an’ cryin’ for me!— For me that loved Maggie that never loved me till now. Mornin’ comin’, An’ me—a-leadin’ a column, An’ a town in the valley Round the bend in the road, An’ Ginger strainin’ his neck An’ thinkin’ o’ Picket Lines— An’ me an’ the rest o’ them thinkin’ o’ home and eggs down there in the village, An’ Coney startin’ to close at Home An’ Maggie mashed in the crowd— An’ me a-leadin’ a column— An’ War goin’ on! Me that hollered for water, With a splinter o’ hell in my side; Me that have laid in the sun a-cursin’ the beggars and stretchers As looked like they’d never a-come; Me that found God with the gas at my throat An’ raved like a madman for Maggie, An’ wanted a wooden cross over me! Me—an’ Slim Jim back o’ me singin’, An’ tracin’ a name in the fade o’ the Stars! Me—knowin’ that some’ll be ridin’ that’s walkin’ tonight— Knowin’ that some’ll never see Broadway again, An’ red wine, An’ Little Italy, An’ Maggies like Mine,— Me!—a-murmurin’ a prayer for Maggie An’ stoppin’ to laugh at Slim, An’ shoutin’ “To the right o’ the road for the Swoi-zant-canze!” Them babies that raise such hell up the line, An’ marchin’, An’ marchin’ by night, An’ sleepin’ by day, An’ France, An’ red wine, An’ me thinkin’ o’ Home, Me—a-leadin’ a column,— An’ War goin’ on! JOHN PALMER CUMMING, Inf. THE ROAD TO MONTFAUCON “M. P., the road from Avocourt That leads to Montfaucon?” “The road, sir, black with mules and carts And brown with men a-marching on— The Romagne woods that lie beyond The ruined heights of Montfaucon— “North over reclaimed No Man’s Land The martyred roadway leads, Quick with forward moving hosts And quick with valiant deeds Avenging Rheims, Liége, and Lille, And outraged gods and creeds.