A squad of regular infantry, In the Commune's closing days, Had captured a crowd of rebels By the wall of Pere-la-Chaise.
There were desperate men, wild women, And dark-eyed Amazon girls, And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek And yellow clustering curls.
The captain seized the little waif, And said, “What dost thou here?” “Sapristi, Citizen captain! I'm a Communist, my dear!”
“Very well! Then you die with the others!” — “Very well! That's my affair; But first let me take to my mother, Who lives by the wine-shop there,
“My father's watch. You see it; A gay old thing, is it not? It would please the old lady to have it; Then I'll come back here, and be shot.”
“That is the last we shall see of him,” The grizzled captain grinned, As the little man skimmed down the hill Like a swallow down the wind.
For the joy of killing had lost its zest In the glut of those awful days, And Death writhed, gorged like a greedy snake, From the Arch to Pere-la-Chaise.
But before the last platoon had fired The child's shrill voice was heard; “Houp-la! the old girl made such a row I feared I should break my word.”
Against the bullet-pitted wall He took his place with the rest, A button was lost from his ragged blouse, Which showed his soft white breast.
“Now blaze away, my children! With your little one-two-three!” The Chassepots tore the stout young heart, And saved Society.
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