The poem
O beauty doomed and perfect for an hour, Leaping along the verge of death and night, You show me dauntless Youth that went to fight Four long years past, discovering pride and power.
You die but in our dreams, who watch you fall Knowing that to-morrow you will dance again. But not to ebbing music were they slain Who sleep in ruined graves, beyond recall; Who, following phantom-glory, friend and foe, Into the darkness that was War must go; Blind; banished from desire. O mortal heart Be still; you have drained the cup; you have played your part.