O DAY of roses and regret,
Kissing the old graves of our own!
Not to the slain love's lovely debt
Alone.
But jealous hearts that live and ache,
Remember; and while drums are mute,
Beneath your banners' bright outbreak,
Salute:
And say for us to lessening ranks
That keep the memory and the pride,
On whose thinned hair our tears and thanks
Abide,
Who from their saved Republic pass,
Glad with the Prince of Peace to dwell:
Hail, dearest few! and soon, alas,
Farewell.