Classic Poem

Lilies are here, tall in the garden bed,
And on the moor are still the buds of May;
Roses are here — and, tolling for our dead
The Bells of Peace make summer holiday.

And do they hear, who in their Springtime went?
The young, the brave young, leaving all behind,
All of their fate, love, laughter, and content,
The village sweetness and the western wind.

Leaving the quiet trees and the cattle red,
The southern soft mist over granite tor —
Whispered from home, by secret valour led
To face the horror that their souls abhor.

Here in the starlight to the owl's " To-whoo! "
They wandered once, they wander still, maybe,
Dreaming of home, clinging the long night thro'
To sound and sight fastened in memory.

Here in the sunlight and the bracken green —
Wild happy roses starring every lane —
Eager to reach the good that might have been,
They were at peace. Are they at peace again?

Bells of remembrance, on this summer's eve
Of our relief, Peace and Goodwill ring in!
Ring out the Past, and let not Hate bereave
Our dreaming Dead of all they died to win!