IV.

The lilies bloom this year in glee;
They know the blood-stained fields are free;
So wave their white; their golden lance
Transfixes gloom, and fear for France
Is swallowed up in Victory.
Dear lad! you little cared to see
The flowers flaunt across the lea;
The dead are glad to hear perchance
The lilies bloom.
Their splendour is your valour's fee,
And proudly we envisage thee,
Asleep in glory's bright expanse—
But oh! it breaks my heart to glance
To where in Sailly-sur-la-Lys
The lilies bloom.
Published in “Poetry and Drama” (London).