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.