And down in the corn where the poppies grew,
Were redder stains than the poppies knew;
And crimson dyed was the river’s flood.
For the foe had crossed from the other side,
That day in the face of a murderous fire,
That swept them down in its terrible ire;
And their life-blood went to color the tide.
“Herbert Kline!” At the call, there came
Two stalwart soldiers into the line,
Bearing between them this Herbert Kline,