The handkerchief she gave to me
was petal-like and fine.
Whiter it was than apple bloom
in that orchard-land of mine.
That handkerchief she made for me.
For me her true heart pined—
She is the mother of my children.
Our lives are close entwined—
O, the Girl of Tajikistan.
I love those near me and I trust
our family tree stands firm.
May our children drink in crystal air
by mountain lake and burn.
They eat each day the honest bread
that by freedom's work I earn.
I guard my children and my people
who show the same concern
For the Girl of Tajikistan.
Another handkerchief I cherish.
It comes from a distant land.
Presented it was with a flourish
of a courageous little hand.
We met at Pleyel in Paris
and for Peace we took our stand.
Her face was sweet as she made the gift
and her almond eyes were bland,
O, that Girl from Vietnam.
That silken handkerchief of hers
would dry no bitter tear,
For in her smile and in her glances
Freedom's flame shone clear.
I saw the people's victories
upon her lips appear,
I saw a new, triumphant life
over death's deep gloom and fear,
O, that Girl from Vietnam.
The stitches on that handkerchief
revealed her dearest dream—
A map of North and South Vietnam
upon the silk was seen....
She'd embroidered, too, the sign of faith
that her country shall redeem—
Above that brave, embattled land,
the scarlet banners' gleam!
O, that Girl from Vietnam.
I took that symbol of true friendship...
such was her behest.
The message on that silk she'd worked—
it shall resist time's test—
To Soviet people sent her love....
I treasure her bequest.
From gendarmes she had kept that kerchief
hidden in her breast.
O, that Girl from Vietnam.
The French folk smiled to see the gift
to a friend the girl had made,
For in their hearts there also lived
a dream that could not fade,
That urged them on for France and Freedom,
brought them here to aid
That noble cause so well embodied
by that gentle maid,
O, that Girl from Vietnam.
At a conference for Peace in Moscow
hopefully I thought
Of a girl I'd met, with almond eyes,
and the land from which she brought
The handkerchief that showed Vietnam
for which she lived and fought—
In vain for that sweet girl, my friend,
among the guests I sought,
Ovthat Girl from Vietnam.
Perhaps along some jungle-path
that dusky lass walks free,
Or happy in the vales she strolls,
or in the hills is she,
Perhaps in Saigon, or Haiphong
with docks and towering quay—
But Freedom's flag she'll hold aloft
wherever she may be,
O, that Girl from Vietnam.
The scarlet flame on pure white silk
seems blazing clear and tall.
To people who should rise and fight
that banner seems to call.
We are as one. We stand for Peace.
Abandoned none shall fall.
For we shield you and, in your fight,
you shield us one and all!
O, that Girl from Vietnam.
We need high heavens where our star
may show its splendid light.
Expanses of the Earth we need,
wide fields to please the sight.
No trench, nor shell-hole do we need,
nor ruins black as night.
For things to which our hearts aspire