Neat uniformed, with close cropped head and fierce moustache,
Near us they dined one July day in fort-bound Metz.
We could not catch their words; but we could see and feel
Their strong excitement, breaking forth, then held in check,
Then breaking forth afresh as some new health was drunk.
The joy, imprinted on their faces, spread to ours.
We laughed in turn as they; but knew not why we laughed.
It was indeed a merry meal in which we shared,
That July day, in fort-bound Metz.
Next day, in France, we were to know at what we laughed
With those large built, full blooded German men of rank,
For when we asked a grieving woman why she wept,
She sobbed: “Because the Germans will make war on France!”