Was there love once? I have forgotten her. 
Was there grief once? Grief yet is mine. 
Other loves I have, men rough, but men who stir 
More grief, more joy, than love of thee and thine.

Faces cheerful, full of whimsical mirth, 
Lined by the wind, burned by the sun; 
Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth, 
As whose children we are brethern: one.

And any moment may descend hot death 
To shatter limbs! Pulp, tear, blast 
Belovèd soldiers who love rough life and breath 
Not less for dying faithful to the last. 

O the fading eyes, the grimed face turned bony, 
Oped mouth gushing, fallen head, 
Lessening pressure of a hand, shrunk, clammed and stony! 
O sudden spasm, release of the dead!

Was there love once? I have forgotten her. 
Was there grief once? Grief yet is mine. 
O loved, living, dying, heroic soldier, 
All, all my joy, my grief, my love, are thine.