Lyrics

Mounting his stairs of azure and of gold, The English lark sings in the August weather For joy which knoweth neither tie nor tether And is not troubled if the world grows old; While you, who were as blithesome and as bold, And held your life lightly as any feather, Sleep the high sleep that dead men sleep together, Careless of what is done and what is told. I know that all England shone before you When you went down. It made a radiance Even of the front of death. Oh, woman's son, You died for England. . . valiant as she that bore you, And sent you forth with a still countenance, And broke her heart for England and lives on!