Private North
HUNCHED in his greatcoat, there he stands,
Sullen of face and rough of hands,
Ready to fight, unready to drill,
Willing to suffer and ready to kill.
He isn’t our best; he isn’t our worst;
He won’t be the last, and he wasn’t the first.
What does he offer to you, O king?
Himself–an humble and uncouth thing.
What does he offer you fit to take?
A life to spend, a body to break.
His brow is sullen, his ways are rough;
But his heart, I’ll warrant, is true enough.
I’ve seen his shack, low-set and gray,
In the black woods thousands of miles away
Where he lived, from the mad, loud world removed,
Masterless, eager, and greatly loved.
Hunched in his greatcoat, there he stands,
Offering all with his heart and hands.
He offers his life to your needs, O King!–
A sullen, humble, and untrained thing–
And with it, for chance to spare or take,
A woman’s spirit to wring and break.
