I Have a Rendezvous with Death

Alan Seeger

Alan Seeger was born in New York, June 22, 1888. During his boyhood and youth he traveled extensively in the United States and Mexico. He was in Europe when the war broke out, and like many another young American, promptly enlisted. He was killed in battle July 4, 1917, during the advance on Belloy-enSauterre. His collected poems have been published by Charles Scribner's Sons.

The following poem is justly ranked as one of the great poems inspired by the war. The peculiar balance of courage and love of life makes a strong appeal. The poem should be read in a serious tone but should not be made too somber.

I HAVE a rendezvous with Death

At some disputed barricade,

When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple blossoms fill the air

I have a rendezvous with Death

When spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand

And lead me into his dark land

And close my eyes and quench my breath-
It may be I shall pass him still.

I have a rendezvous with Death

On some scarred slope of battled hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
When love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,

Where hushed awakenings are dear-
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year.
And I to my pledged word am true,

I shall not fail my rendezvous.

Reprinted by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Charles Scribner's Sons.

Fleurette

Robert William Service

Robert William Service was born in Preston, England, on Jan. 16, 1874. After attending a public school in Glasgow, he emigrated to Canada, where he went into the banking business. He spent eight years traveling in the Yukon and in the Subarctic. He is now engaged exclusively in literature, and has published a number of poems and ballads, dealing chiefly with life in the Yukon.

This poem is a fine example of conversational verse. It has deep emotion, however, and should be rendered with exquisite feeling. If there can be a little choking up of the throat on "Darn it, I couldn't speak," the effect will strike home. Be careful, however, to do this sincerely, and you may expect tears in your own eyes and the eyes of the audience. Some may prefer to read this selection from the book.

THE Wounded Canadian Speaks:
My leg? It's off at the knee.

Do I miss it? Well, some.

I've had it since I was born;

And lately a devilish corn.

(I rather chuckle with glee

You see

To think how I've fooled that corn).

But I'll hobble around all right.

It isn't that, it's my face.

Oh, I know I'm a hideous sight,

Hardly a thing in place.

Sort of gargoyle, you'd say.
Nurse won't give me a glass,

But I see the folks as they pass
Shudder and turn away;
Turn away in distress
Mirror enough, I guess.
I'm gay? You bet I am gay,
But I wasn't a while ago.
If you'd seen me even to-day,
The darndedest picture of woe,
With this Caliban mug of mine,
So ravaged and raw and red,
Turned to the wall-in fine
Wishing that I was dead.

...

What has happened since then,

Since I lay with my face to the wall,
The most despairing of men?

Listen! I'll tell you all.

That poilu across the way,

With the shrapnel wound on his head,

Has a sister; she came to-day

To sit awhile by his bed.

All morning I heard him fret:

"Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?"

Then sudden, a joyous cry;

The tripping of little feet;
The softest, tenderest sigh;
A voice so fresh and sweet;

Clear as a silver bell,

Fresh as the morning dews:

"C'est toi, c'est toi, Marcel!

Mon frère, comme je suis heureuse!"

So over the blanket's rim

I raised my terrible face,
And I saw-how I envied him!
A girl of such delicate grace;
Sixteen, all laughter and love;
As gay as a linnet, and yet
As tenderly sweet as a dove;
Half woman, half child, Fleurette.
Then I turned to the wall again.
(I was awfully blue, you see)
And I thought with a bitter pain:
"Such visions are not for me."
So there like a log I lay,

All hidden, I thought, from view,
When sudden I heard her say:
"Ah! Who is that malheureux?"
Then briefly I heard him tell
(However he came to know)

How I'd smothered a bomb that fell

Into the trench, and so

None of my men were hit,

Though it busted me up a bit.

Well, I didn't quiver an eye,
And he chattered and there she sat;
And I fancied I heard her sigh-

But I wouldn't just swear to that.

And maybe she wasn't so bright,
Though she talked in a merry strain,
And I closed my eyes ever so tight,
Yet I saw her ever so plain;
Her dear little tilted nose,

Her delicate, dimpled chin,
Her mouth like a budding rose,
And the glistening pearls within;
Her eyes like the violet:

Such a rare little queen-Fleurette!

And at last when she rose to go,-
The light was a little dim-

I ventured to peep, and so

I saw her, graceful and slim,

And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh

How I envied and envied him!

So when she was gone I said

In rather a dreary voice
To him of the opposite bed:
"Ah, friend, how you must rejoice!
But me, I'm a thing of dread.

For me nevermore the bliss,

The thrill of a woman's kiss."

Then I stopped, for lo! she was there,
And a great light shone in her eyes.
And me! I could only stare,

I was taken so by surprise,

When gently she bent her head:

"May I kiss you, sergeant?" she said.