English poem
O long the fiends of war shall dance
by Geoffrey Bache Smith (1894–1916)
O long the fiends of war shall dance Upon the stricken fields of France: And long and long their grisly cry Shall echo up and smite the sky: O long and long the tears of God Shall fall upon a barren sod, Save when, of His great clemency, He gives men's hearts in custody Of grim old kindly Death, who knows The mould is better than the rose.