Our bliss was as the spring, a fleeting phase,
and brief’s the beauty of young lovers’ craze.
I dreamed a butterfly in golden days,
when buttercups lay in the fields ablaze.
...
Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;
Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;
Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.
Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;
A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;
A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.