The poem
She triumphs, in the vivid green Where sun and quivering foliage meet; And in each soldier's heart serene; When death stood near them they have seen The radiant forests where her feet Move on a breeze of silver sheen.
And they are fortunate, who fight For gleaming landscapes swept and shafted And crowned by cloud pavilions white; Hearing such harmonies as might Only from Heaven be downward wafted- Voices of victory and delight.