"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.