Over the Dead is a radiant sky,
And a light wind blows from the Vale of Baidar;
But what care they as they mutely lie—
Column and captain, steed and rider?
Tulips and poppies can never bloom
Dear to their slumber as English daisies;
Nor the nightingale's warble in bowery gloom
Atone for the skylark's rapturous mazes.
Ghostly cities and nameless graves—
This is the sum of the battle's story!
And the wind of Baidar the brown grass waves,
And sighs above them, "Alas for Glory!"