Poem – Rouge Bouquet

In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet 

There is a new-made grave to-day, 

Built by never a spade nor pick 

Yet covered with earth ten metres thick. 

There lie many fighting men, 

   Dead in their youthful prime, 

Never to laugh nor love again 

   Nor taste the Summertime. 

For Death came flying through the air 

And stopped his flight at the dugout stair, 

Touched his prey and left them there, 

   Clay to clay. 

He hid their bodies stealthily 

In the soil of the land they fought to free 

   And fled away. 

Now over the grave abrupt and clear 

   Three volleys ring; 

And perhaps their brave young spirits hear 

   The bugle sing: 

“Go to sleep! 

Go to sleep! 

Slumber well where the shell screamed and fell. 

Let your rifles rest on the muddy floor, 

You will not need them any more. 

Danger’s past; 

Now at last, 

Go to sleep!” 
There is on earth no worthier grave 

To hold the bodies of the brave 

Than this place of pain and pride 

Where they nobly fought and nobly died. 

Never fear but in the skies 

Saints and angels stand 

Smiling with their holy eyes 

On this new-come band. 

St. Michael’s sword darts through the air 

And touches the aureole on his hair 

As he sees them stand saluting there, 

   His stalwart sons; 

And Patrick, Brigid, Columkill 

Rejoice that in veins of warriors still 

   The Gael’s blood runs. 

And up to Heaven’s doorway floats, 

   From the wood called Rouge Bouquet, 

A delicate cloud of buglenotes 

   That softly say: 

“Farewell! 

Farewell! 

Comrades true, born anew, peace to you! 

Your souls shall be where the heroes are 

And your memory shine like the morning-star. 

Brave and dear, 

Shield us here. 

Farewell!” 

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About भण्डारी2013

Has a reflective and idealistic types of personality. Loves to participate in Social activities. Extremely loyal by nature. Laid back unless a strongly held value is threatened and a talented writer too.
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