Armistice By Charles Buxton Going

Armistice By Charles Buxton Going How close the white-ranked crosses stand Beneath the flag which seems to be A soaring, hovering glory-cloud On lily fields of Calvary! Ours, ours they are— Those dead, dead knights who won the golden star On far French hills, here in our churchyards lying, Or in war’s wildest wreckage—yet unfound […]