They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man, The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.

The bells they sound on Bredon And still the steeples hum. 'Come all to church, good people,' - Oh, noisy bells, be dumb; I hear you, I will come.

But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now, And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night.

And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.

In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet, There is a new-made grave today, Built by never a spade nor pick, Yet covered with earth ten meteres thick. There lie ma…

Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay, Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away, Gone from the earth to a better land I know, I hear their g…

Man, supposing you and I, escaping this battle, would be able to live on forever, ageless, immortal, so neither would I myself go on fighting in the foremost, …