.. . . Would I Were In

Proud, Then, Clear-eyed And Laughing, Go To Greet Death As A Friend!

.. . . Would I Were In Grantchester, In Grantchester!

Spend In Pure Converse Our Eternal Day; Think Each In Each, Immediately Wise; Learn All We Lacked Before; Hear, Know, And Say What This Tumultuous Body Now Denies; And Feel, Who Have Laid Our Groping Hands Away; And See, No Longer Blinded By Our Eyes.

Blow Out, You Bugles, Over The Rich Dead! There's None Of These So Lonely And Poor Of Old, But, Dying, Has Made Us Rarer Gifts Than Gold.

Hearts At Peace, Under An English Heaven.