Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us.
Boys' griefs are not so grievous as our yearning,
Boys have no sadness sadder than our hope.
There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole.
The greatest glory will be theirs who fought, Who kept this nation in integrity.
O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
Yet heaven looks smaller than the old doll's-home.
Ever again to breathe pure happiness,
So happy that we gave away our toy?