MADEMOISELLE.

Oh Mademoiselle behind the Lines,

When we're weary and covered with dirt,

And you make a promenade with us,

Or perhaps you mend our shirt.

You know our lives from your brothers,

Or your sweethearts who can n't come back,

But only your laughter greets us

When we shed that awful “pack.”

And some of you sell eggs to us

In a town whence most have fled:

And some of your names have “de” and your blood

Runs blue as well as red.

Oh Mademoiselle you sure are “chic”

From your head to the tip o’ your toes,

And if you like us, you just plain like us,

And you do n't give a damn who knows.

And Mademoiselle those eyes, Oo la la!

So sparkling, dark and rare,

With the love of all the ages lying

Deep and dormant there.

( Please, please do n't think us fickle —

That we did n't play the game —

But you seemed so human and made to be loved,

And we murmured, “Je vous aime.” )

We hear you're going back with us

To the tune of ten thousand wives,

And we wish you ten thousand blessings,

And ten thousand happy lives.

So here's a health to you, Mademoiselle,

Who helped us see it through,

And the load that your laughter lightened

Is the debt that we owe to you.