The silken harvest climbed the down: Moon after moon was heavenly-sweet Stroking the bread within the sheaves, Looking 'twixt apples and their leaves.
And while this rose made round her cup, The armies died convulsed. And when This chaste young silver sun went up Softly, a thousand shattered men, One wet corruption, heaped the plain, After a league-long throb of pain.
Flower following tender flower; and birds, And berries; and benignant skies Made thrive the serried flocks and herds. -- Yonder are men shot through the eyes. Love, hide thy face From man's unpardonable race.
Who said "No man hath greater love than this, To die to serve his friend"? So these have loved us all unto the end.
Chide thou no more, O thou unsacrificed! The soldier dying dies upon a kiss, The very kiss of Christ.
End of title
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