The Fallen Subaltern

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.