Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. VIII. National Spirit
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Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume VIII. National Spirit.  1904.
 
III. War
Tramp, Tramp, Tramp
Anonymous
 
IN the prison cell I sit,
  Thinking, mother dear, of you,
And our bright and happy home so far away,
  And the tears they fill my eyes,
Spite of all that I can do,        5
  Tho’ I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.
 
Trump, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,
  Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come,
And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again,
  Of freedom in our own belovèd home.        10
 
In the battle front we stood
  When the fiercest charge they made,
And they swept us off a hundred men or more,
  But before we reached their lines
They were beaten back dismayed,        15
  And we heard the cry of vict’ry o’er and o’er.—
 
Chorus.
So within the prison cell
  We are waiting for the day
That shall come to open wide the iron door,
  And the hollow eye grows bright,        20
And the poor heart almost gay,
  As we think of seeing friends and home once more.
 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,
  Oh, cheer up, comrades, they will come,
And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again,        25
  Of freedom in our own belovèd home.
 
 
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