<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519121" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mary Leslie</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill<br>The bugles blew for Spain:<br>And you below the Castle Hill<br>Stood in the crowd your lane.<br>Then hearts were wild to watch us pass,<br>Yet laith to let us go!<br>While mine said, 'Fare-ye-well, my lass!'<br>And yours, 'God keep my Jo!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here by the bivouac fire, above<br>These fields of savage play,<br>I'll lift my love to meet thy love<br>Twa thousand miles away,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where yonder, yonder by the stars,<br>Nightlong there rins a burn,<br>And maids with lovers at the wars<br>May list their wraiths' return.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">More careless yet my spirit grows<br>Of fame, more sick of blood:<br>But I can think of Badajoz,<br>And yet that God is good.<br>Beyond the siege, beyond the stour,<br>Beyond the sack of towns,<br>I reach to pluck ae lily-floo'r<br>Where leaders press for crowns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Mary! lily! bow'd and wet<br>With mair than mornin's rain!<br>The bugles up the Lawnmarket<br>Shall sound us home again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then fare-ye-well, these foreign lands,<br>And be damn'd their bitter drouth.<br>With your dear face between my hands<br>And the cup held to my mouth,<br>My love,<br>It's clean cup to my mouth!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Arthur+Quiller-Couch">Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519121" data-title="Mary Leslie de Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch" data-description="O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill The bugles blew for Spain: And you below the Castle Hill Stood in the crowd your lane. Then hearts were wild to watch us pass, Yet laith to let us go! While mine said, 'Fare-ye-well, my lass!' And yours, 'God keep ..."></div> </div> </div>

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