The poem
The street sounds to the soldiers' tread, And out we troop to see: A single redcoat turns his head, He turns and looks at me.
My man, from sky to sky's so far, We never crossed before; Such leagues apart the world's ends are, We're like to meet no more;
What thoughts at heart have you and I We cannot stop to tell; But dead or living, drunk or dry, Soldier, I wish you well.