In the winter when the snow fell
And this France was bleak and white,
And the days turned—oh so quickly
To the cold and cheerless night,
I was homesick.
When the rains came, ceasing never,
And the earth was all a mire,
And we tried to crowd the gloom out
With our puny fagot fire,
I was homesick.
Now it’s summer and the poppies
Are a-flaming on the hill—
It is France in all her glory
And the larks are singing, still
I am homesick.
ALLEREY, FRANCE,
May, 1919.