A moth is not dreaming itself a man!

Our Deathless Dead

How shall we honor them, our Deathless Dead?

With strew of laurel and the stately tread?

With blaze of banners brightening overhead?

Nay, not alone these cheaper praises bring:

They will not have this easy honoring.

Not all our cannon, breaking the blue noon,

Not the rare reliquary, writ with rune,

Not all the iterance of our reverent cheers,