Tolls Ben, th’ eleventh hour; Whitehall quiets,
Bleeds sad Albion, her valiant hearts,
A pallor blanches her flush-cheeked riots,
Till the lusty spirits from us departs.
Save poppy flore to supply our colors,
To warm th’ ashen bones, to blanket dulled souls,
To rekindle not our raging dolors,
Whence chasteness lost, and passion gained control.
Remember what blood-curdling fury wrought!
Th’ innocents it bloodied on Flanders fields,
The wan banshees loosed by gurgling onslaught,
Consumed, their embers; by Mars’ wrath, unsealed.
Gather thine corn roses, in remembrance,
And keep thine lusts culled, with cooled temperance.
G. E. Hernandez