"Flowers, only flowers--bring me dainty posies, Blossoms for forgetfulness," that was all he said; So we sacked our gardens, violets and roses, Lilies white and bluebells laid we on his bed. Soft his pale hands touched them, tenderly caressing; Soft into his tired eyes came a little light; Such a wistful love-look, gentle as a blessing; There amid the flowers waited he the night. "I would have you raise me; I can see the West then: I would see the sun set once before I go." So he lay a-gazing, seemed to be at rest then, Quiet as a spirit in the golden glow. So he lay a-watching rosy castles crumbling, Moats of blinding amber, bastions of flame, Rugged rifts of opal, crimson turrets tumbling; So he lay a-dreaming till the shadows came. "Open wide the window; there's a lark a-singing; There's a glad lark singing in the evening sky. How it's wild with rapture, radiantly winging: Oh it's good to hear that when one has to die. I am horror-haunted from the hell they found me; I am battle-broken, all I want is rest. Ah! It's good to die so, blossoms all around me, And a kind lark singing in the golden West. "Flowers, song and sunshine, just one thing is wanting, Just the happy laughter of a little child." So we brought our dearest, Doris all-enchanting; Tenderly he kissed her; radiant he smiled. "In the golden peace-time you will tell the story How for you and yours, sweet, bitter deaths were ours. . . . God bless little children!" So he passed to glory, So we left him sleeping, still amid the flow'rs. My Mate I've been sittin' starin', starin' at 'is muddy pair of boots, And tryin' to convince meself it's 'im. (Look out there, lad! That sniper--'e's a dysey when 'e shoots; 'E'll be layin' of you out the same as Jim.) Jim as lies there in the dug-out wiv 'is blanket round 'is 'ead, To keep 'is brains from mixin' wiv the mud; And 'is face as white as putty, and 'is overcoat all red, Like 'e's spilt a bloomin' paint-pot--but it's blood. And I'm tryin' to remember of a time we wasn't pals. 'Ow often we've played 'ookey, 'im and me; And sometimes it was music-'alls, and sometimes it was gals, And even there we 'ad no disagree. For when 'e copped Mariar Jones, the one I liked the best, I shook 'is 'and and loaned 'im 'arf a quid; I saw 'im through the parson's job, I 'elped 'im make 'is nest, I even stood god-farther to the kid. So when the war broke out, sez 'e: "Well, wot abaht it, Joe?" "Well, wot abaht it, lad?" sez I to 'im. 'Is missis made a awful fuss, but 'e was mad to go, ('E always was 'igh-sperrited was Jim). Well, none of it's been 'eaven, and the most of it's been 'ell, But we've shared our baccy, and we've 'alved our bread. We'd all the luck at Wipers, and we shaved through Noove Chapelle, And . . . that snipin' barstard gits 'im on the 'ead.