There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.

And every dew-drop paints a bow.

Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.

So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight

Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.

Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver.