The starshells float above, the bayonets glisten; We bear our fallen friend without a sound; Below the waiting legions lie and listen To us, who march upon their burial-ground. Wound in the flag of England, here we lay him; The guns will flash and thunder o?er the grave; What other winding sheet should now array him, What other music should salute the brave? As goes the Sun-god in his chariot glorious, When all his golden banners are unfurled, So goes the soldier, fallen but victorious, And leaves behind a twilight in the world. And those who come this way, in days hereafter, Will know that here a boy for England fell, Who looked at danger with the eyes of laughter, And on the charge his days were ended well. One last salute; the bayonets clash and glisten; With arms reversed we go without a sound: One more has joined the men who lie and listen To us, who march upon their burial-ground.