I + 

Happy are men who yet before they are killed + 

Can let their veins run cold. + 

Whom no compassion fleers + 

Or makes their feet + 

Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers. + 

The front line withers, + 

But they are troops who fade, not flowers + 

For poets’ tearful fooling: + 

Men, gaps for filling + 

Losses who might have fought + 

Longer; but no one bothers. + 