Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.

Danny Deever

“WHAT are the bugles blowin’ for?” said Files-on-Parade.

“To turn you out, to turn you out,” the Colour-Sergeant said.

“What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade.

“I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,” the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear 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’.

“What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?” said Files-on-Parade.

“It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold,” the Colour-Sergeant said.

“What makes that front-rank man fall down?” said Files-on-Parade.

“A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,” the Colour-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—

O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!

“’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,” said Files-on-Parade.

“’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,” the Colour-Sergeant said.

“I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,” said Files-on-Parade.

“’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,” the Colour-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’.

“What’s that so black agin the sun?” said Files-on-Parade.

“It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,” the Colour-Sergeant said.

“What’s that that whimpers over’ead?” said Files-on-Parade.

“It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,” the Colour-Sergeant said.

For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quickstep 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’!