Stephenson's Graded Classical Poems

Clear as a silver bell,
Fresh as the morning dews;
"C'est toi c'est toi, Marcel!
Mon frere, comme je suis heureuse!''

So over the blanket's rim
I raised my terrible face,
And I saw---how I envied him!
A girl of such delicate grace;
Sixteen, all laughter and love;
As gay as a linnet, and yet
As tenderly sweet as a dove;
Half woman, half child---Fleurette.

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:

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