C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Danny Deever
By Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936)
“W
“To turn you out, to turn you out,” the Color-Sergeant said.
“What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade.
“I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,” the Color-Sergeant said.
For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can ’ear the Dead March play,
The regiment’s in ’ollow square—they’re hangin’ him to-day;
They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,
An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
“It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold,” the Color-Sergeant said.
What makes that front-rank man fall down?” says Files-on-Parade.
“A touch of sun, a touch of sun,” the Color-Sergeant said.
They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round.
They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;
An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound—
Oh, they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
“’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,” the Color-Sergeant said.
“I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,” said Files-on-Parade.
“’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,” the Color-Sergeant said.
They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,
For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must look ’im in the face;
Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the regiment’s disgrace,
While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
“It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,” the Color-Sergeant said.
“What’s that that whimpers over’ead?” said Files-on-Parade.
“It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,” the Color-Sergeant said.
For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quick-step play;
The regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;
Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day,
After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.