A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/To our Dead
For other versions of this work, see To Our Dead.
TO OUR DEAD
SLEEP well, heroic souls, in silence sleep,
Lapped in the circling arms of kindly death!
No ill can vex your slumbers, no foul breath
Of slander, hate, derision mar the deep
Repose that holds you close. Your kinsmen reap
The harvest you have sown, while each man saith:
"So would I choose, when danger threateneth,
Let my death be as theirs." We dare not weep.
For you have scaled the starry heights of fame,
Nor ever shrunk from peril and distress
In fight undaunted for the conqueror's prize;
Therefore your death, engirt with loveliness
Of simple service done for England's name,
Shall shine like beacon-stars of sacrifice.