O strong young hearts within whose veins was leaping
Love like a fount, hate like a dart shot high,
My heart o'er yours, its dolorous vigil keeping,
Is pierced with sorrow, while in joy you die!
Your ashes o'er the flats of France are scattered,
But hold a fire more hot than flesh of ours;
The stainless flag that flutters, frayed and tattered,
Shall wave and wave like spring's immortal flowers.
You die, but in your death life glows intenser;
You shall not know the shame of growing old: