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 soldier, fallen but victorious, 
 And leaves behind a twilight in the world. 
 
And those who come this way, in days hereafter, 
 Will know that here a boy for England fell, 
Who looked at danger with the eyes of laughter, 
 And on the charge his days were ended well. 
 
One last salute; the bayonets clash and glisten; 
 With arms reversed we go without a sound: 
One more has joined the men who lie and listen 
 To us, who march upon their burial-ground.