Lyrics

These are the fights of Love and Joy and Men With Fate and Death and the illicit Beast, For guerdons, of which Glory is the least And Honour not the highest. The old reign Of Night shall topple, the old Wrongs be slain: Fitting it is that you go to the Feast While ange suns kindle the young-eyed east And bring the breath of Eden back again. Oh soldiers' hour! . . . For now the English rose Flames and is washed with the authentic dew And through the mist her ancient crimson shows: I see your shadows on the waking lawn Like shadows of kings, and all the souls of you Blazoned and bright and panoplied in the dawn.