Gather the garlands rare to-day,
Snow-white roses and roses red;
Gather the fairest flowers of May,
Heap them up on the graves of clay,
Gladden the graves of the noble dead.
Pile them high as the soldiers were
Piled on the field when they fought and fell;
They will rejoice in their new place there
To-day, as they walk where the fragrant air
Is sweet with the scent of asphodel.
Many a time, I've heard it said,
They fell so thick where the battles were,
Their hot blood rippled, and, running red,
Ran out like a rill from the drifted dead
Staining the heath and the daisies there,
This day the friends of the soldiers keep,
And they will keep it through all the years,
To the silent city where soldiers sleep
Will come with flowers, to watch and weep
And water the garlands with their tears.
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