"The Fallen Subaltern," Herbert Asquith

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The Fallen Subaltern

The starshells float above, the bayonets glisten;

We bear our fallen friend without a sound;

Below the waiting legions lie and listen

To us, who march upon their burial-ground.

Wound in the flag of England, here we lay him;

The guns will flash and thunder o'er the grave;

What other winding sheet should now array him,

What other music should salute the brave?

As goes the Sun-god in his chariot glorious,
When all his golden banners are unfurled,
So goes the...