II. THE COMRADES

By Edward Shanks

The men that marched and sang with me

Are most of them in Flanders now:

I lie abed and hear the wind

Blow softly through the budding bough.

And they are scattered far and wide

In this or that brave regiment;

From trench to trench across the mud

They go the way that others went.

They run with shining bayonet

Or lie and take a careful aim

And theirs it is to learn of death

And theirs the joy and theirs the fame.