France

To-day you’ll find by field and ditch The small invasion of the vetch: And where they sleep rest-harrow will Follow upon the daffodil.

These in their soft disordered ranks Withstand and overcome the Tanks; And the small unconsidered grass Cries to the gunner “On ne passe.”

The corn outlasts the bayonet, Whose blades no blood nor rust can fret, Or only the immortal rust Of poppies failing in their thrust.

The line these hold no force can break, Nor their platoons advancing shake, Whose wide offensive wave on wave Doth make a garden of a grave.

These with the singing lark conspire To veil with loveliness the wire, While he ascending cleans the stain In heaven of the aeroplane.

These in the fields and open sky Reverse the errors of Versailles, Who with a natural increase From year to year establish peace.

For all the living these will cloak The things they spoiled, the hearts they broke; And where these heal the earth will be For all the dead indemnity.