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Arthur Conan Doyle (Артур Конан Дойль) «The Guards Came Through» (1919). 3. Those Others Where are those others?—the men who stood In the first wild spate of the German flood, And paid full price with their heart's best blood For the saving of you and me: French's Contemptibles, haggard and lean, Allenby's lads of the cavalry screen, Gunners who fell in Battery L, And Guardsmen of Landrecies? Where are those others who fought and fell, Outmanned, outgunned and scant of shell, On the deadly curve of the Ypres hell, Barring the coast to the last? Where are our laddies who died out there, From Poelcapelle to Festubert, When the days grew short and the poplars bare In the cold November blast? For us their toil and for us their pain, The sordid ditch in the sodden plain, The Flemish fog and the driving rain, The cold that cramped and froze; The weary night, the chill bleak day, When earth was dark and sky was grey, And the ragged weeds in the dripping clay Were all God's world to those. Where are those others in this glad time, When the standards wave and the joy-bells chime, And London stands with outstretched hands Waving her children in? Athwart our joy still comes the thought Of the dear dead boys, whose lives have bought All that sweet victory has brought To us who lived to win. To each his dreams, and mine to me, But as the shadows fall I see That ever-glorious company— The men who bide out there. Rifleman, Highlander, Fusilier, Airman and Sapper and Grenadier, With flaunting banner and wave and cheer, They flow through the darkening air. And yours are there, and so are mine, Rank upon rank and line on line, With smiling lips and eyes that shine, And bearing proud and high. Past they go with their measured tread, These are the victors, these—the dead! Ah, sink the knee and bare the head As the hallowed host goes by! Arthur Conan Doyle's other poems:
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