Trembling o’er sores for which they knew no balms;
Calling with agonizing cries on death
To sink their remains to the world beneath.
Alas!
Though measure age with age; nor let
Us in compassion for a few forget
How hosts that, eagles gleaming, marched to war,
Return, less thousands weltering in gore;
A navy that rode yesterday the waves,
To-day is matchwood, corpses robbed of graves.