T.A. Girling, 'An Idyll of the War'

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An Idyll of the War

He came into the billet,
A captain worn with care,
For two weeks' rest from Ypres,
Then on, he knew not where.

He greeted her so gently
And smiled through tired eyes,
When all that homely comfort
He saw with glad surprise.

She met him at the doorway
And gave him welcome true,
For she had two dear brothers
At Verdun, fighting too.

She watched his needs and tended
With willing cheerful face,
Her brown eyes shone with kindness,
Her lithe form moved with grace.

He rode a gallant charger,
Like Launcelot of old,
His nickel shone like silver,
His brass-work gleamed like gold.

A sergeant followed after,
A batman waited near,
He seemed so strong and forceful,
So free from pride or fear.

And she was young and merry,
And full of winsome ways,
Yet with a heart beneath them
That shone with ruby rays.

Her voice was softest music,
Her laugh was like the stream,
Her sadness a deep symphony,
Her pensiveness a dream.

He tried to learn their language,
And touch the thought that blends,
He told her of his country,
His work, his home, his friends.

She spoke in broken English,
And wondered oft and sighed,
And found in him a comrade
In whom she might confide.

They played at draughts together,
But lingered o'er the game
To talk of times and places,
And thoughts they'd had the same.

The long war was forgotten
In nature, flowers, and skies,
And poetry, and laughter;
They walked in Paradise.

He came into the billet
With trouble on his brow,
The smile fled from her features,
She was the woman now.

She came and sat beside him,
He took her pretty hand,
And told her all his worry,
He knew she'd understand.

She was a gentle French girl,
He needed help that day,
So is it any wonder
That love should show the way ?

His worries seem to vanish,
And just for five days' flight
She was his gentle Marie,
He was her khaki knight.

Then out into the darkness
He rode before the train,
And all night through his Marie
Was at his side again.

While lonely as a widow
She wept the whole night through,
For he was gone for ever,
The first love that she knew.

Ah ! was it wasted pity ?
And was it broken troth ?
They loved without a future,
They kissed without an oath ;

Or were it Heaven-sent blessing
When exiled soldiers fight,
If every gentle Marie
Might find her khaki knight ?

by T.A. Girling