O GRETEL, my Dove, my heart's Trumpet, My Cannon, my Big Drum, and also my Musket, O hear me, my mild little Dove, In your still little room. Your portrait, my Gretel, is always on guard, Is always attentive to Love's parole and watchword; Your picture is always going the rounds, My Gretel, I call at every hour! My heart's knapsack is always full of you; My looks, they are quartered with you; And when I bite off the top end of a cartridge, Then I think that I give you a kiss. You alone are my Word of Command and orders, Yea, my Right-face, Left-face, Brown Tommy, and wine, And at the word of command "Shoulder Arms!" Then I think you say "Take me in your arms." Your eyes sparkle like a Battery, Yea, they wound like Bombs and Grenades; As black as gunpowder is your hair, Your hand as white as Parading breeches! Yes, you are the Match and I am the Cannon; Have pity, my love, and give quarter, And give the word of command, "Wheel round Into my heart's Barrack Yard." |