Jarama 

By A. M. Elliott 

Unrisen dawns had dazzled in your eyes, 
Your hearts were hungry for the not yet born. 
In agony of thwarted love and wasted life, 
Through all long misery, from countries torn 
With savage hands, you did not shrink or bend, 
But marched on straighter, prouder to the end. 

Not blindly, fighting in another’s war, 
Lured by cheap promises and drugged with drums, 
Striking down brothers in the name of lies, 
Slaves of the blackest with all senses numbed — 
But clear-eyed, bravely, counting all the cost, 
Knowing what might be won, what might be lost. 

The rifles you will never hold again 
In other hands still speak against the night. 
Brothers have filled your places in the ranks 
Who will remember how you died for right 
The day you took those rifles up, defied 
The power of ages, and victorious died. 

Comrades, sleep now. For all you loved shall be. 
You did not seek for death, but finding it — 
And such a death — better than shameful life, 
Rest now content. A flame of hope is lit. 
The flag of freedom floats again unfurled 
And all you loved lives richlier in the world. 

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