And hark how the battle went.

 The battle went by the village, And back through the night were borne Far cries of murder and pillage, With smoke from the standing corn. 

And back through the night were borne

With smoke from the standing corn.

 But when they came on the morrow, They talk'd not over their task, As he listen'd there by the furrow; For the dead mouth could not ask— 

They talk'd not over their task,

For the dead mouth could not ask—

 How went the battle, my brothers? But that he will never know: For his mouth the red earth smothers As they shoulder their spades and go. 

But that he will never know:

As they shoulder their spades and go.

 Yet he cannot sleep thereunder, But ever must toss and turn. How went the battle, I wonder? —And that he will never learn! 

But ever must toss and turn.

—And that he will never learn!

 When winter trees bestrew the path, Still to the twig a leaf or twain Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath, But that foreknown, forlorner pain— To fall when green leaves come again!

Still to the twig a leaf or twain

But that foreknown, forlorner pain—

II. THE MARINE

(Poitevin)

The bold Marine comes back from war, So kind: The bold Marine comes back from war, So kind: With a raggety coat and a worn-out shoe. "Now, poor Marine, say, whence come you, All so kind?" 

So kind:

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