The furrows lessen to the sky;
There sleep the sons of England, they
Who died that England should not die.

Better--ah, better for us all,
For them who sleep and us who wake,
That never bird at dawn should call
Nor golden foam of morning break;
That on one high cairn of the dead
The ultimate light should be unsealed,
Than that the world should live unled,
Unchanged, unpurified, unhealed.

Life and all things that make it fair
Men gave that better lives might be;
They went exulting and aware
Forth to the great discovery;
But who will prize life over-much
Or deem that death comes over-soon
If hands of fools and barterers touch
The architrave of Hope half-hewn!

Under a brave new baldachin,
New robes drooped o'er their crimson feet,
The old unaltered twain begin
Their ride along the embannered street;
With golden charms for men to kiss
A-swing from wrist and bridle-rein,
The brethren Pride and Avarice,
The monarchs of the world again.