Some lie in graves beside the crowded dead
In village churchyards; others shell holes keep,
Their bodies gaping, all their splendour sped.
Peace, O my soul … A mother’s part to weep.
Say: do they watch with keen all-seeing eyes
My own endeavours in the whirling hell?
Ah, God! how great, how grand the sacrifice,
Ah, God! the manhood of yon men who fell!
And this is War … Blood and a woman’s tears,
Brave memories adown the quaking years.