Weavers of schemes, peering with insect eyes?
V
What shame were this to those who lie asleep
Under the scarlet poppies, having bought
A clean new world with blood! Shall we not keep
Faith with our dead, and give them what they sought?
Is not a world the measure of our debt
To those whose young lives sadly we inherit,
Living them out, making them fruitful yet?
What lesser meed fits their transcendent merit?