THE SAILOR-MAN
Permission of Life, New York
I like the look of khaki and the cut of army wear,
And the men of mettle sporting it, at home and over there;
But there's something at the heart-strings that tautens when I meet
A blue-clad sailor-man adrift, on shore-leave from the fleet.
From flapping togs his sea-legs win some tinge of old romance
That's proper to the keeper of the paths that lead to France;
For what were all the soldiers worth that ever tossed a gun
Without the ships and sailor-men to pit them 'gainst the Hun!
There's sunlight now and steady ground beneath the sailor's tread,
And every pleasure beckons him, and every snare is spread;
Speed well this visitor, whose home 'twixt heaving decks is set,
Whose playmates are the darkness, and the bitter cold, and wet!
