IN days of ancient history 
Who were you? Tell me if you know. 
Between your kisses answer me 
To-night, Chicot.

Were you a faun by Castaly 
Tracking Urania or Clio? 
Or a white boy in Arcady 
Astray, Chicot?

Were you a satin-supple page 
Swinging a curtain to and fro, 
Chanting some impudent addage 
Of love, Chicot?

Were you the subtlest cardinal 
That ever blessing did bestow? 
At Fontarabia did you fall, 
Fighting, Chicot?

Or at some monarch' table set, 
Did the bells twink at wrist and toe? 
Were you Brusquet or Dagonet, 
Or else, Chicot?

Something you were of all of these, 
Wise, gay, serene--that hid below, 
More sad for all your subtleties, 
Something, Chicot.

You brace your armor well tonight,-- 
Too well for any blood to flow; 
You'd not betray in any fight 
A wound, Chicot!

I think you would not flinch beneath 
Life's whips, but after every blow 
Stand up again, and set your teeth 
And smile, Chicot.

Weariness waits on wariness, 
There's leaping flame beneath the snow-- 
All sorts of things that none would guess 
Of you, Chicot!

Are you a lover? No and yes! 
Are you a comrade? Yes and no! 
What are you? Neither more nor less 
Than just Chicot!

Take what a passing poet sings 
Before to-morrow bids us go, 
In memory of--many things, 
And you, Chicot!