Happed in mist these twenty-five
Eventful years seem to me now
And in all but one a friendly haze
A ghost of gladness by my side
With horse and plough I marched with pride
Of the purest kind
Then a blink of light and it's flander's fields
At the end of time
And through the flash and cannon's roar
And in his eyes flew snipe and curlew
In his throat blew moistened air
In his mind the wood the king stole
That robbed the land and laid it bare
But