If I should die out there on the battle-front,

You’d weep, O Lou my darling, a single day,

And then my memory would die away

As a shell dies bursting over the battle-front,

A beautiful shell like a flowered mimosa spray.

And then this memory exploded in space

Would flood the whole wide world beneath my blood:

The mountains, valleys, seas and the stars that race,

The wondrous suns that ripen far in space,

As golden fruits round General Baratier would.

Forgotten memory, living in all things,

I’d redden the nipples of your sweet pink breasts,

I’d blush your mouth, your hair’s now blood-like rings.

You wouldn’t grow old at all; these lovely things

Would ever make you young for their brave behests.

The fatal spurting of my blood on the world

Would give more lively brightness to the sun,

More color to flowers, to waves more speedy run.

A marvelous love would descend upon the world,

Would be, in your lonely flesh, more strongly grown.

And if I die there, memory you’ll forget—

Sometimes remember, Lou, the moments of madness,

Of youth and love and dazzling passion’s heat—

My blood will be the burning fountain of gladness!

And be the happiest being the prettiest yet,

O my only love and my great madness!

L ong night is falling,

O n us foreboding

U shers a long, long fate of blood.