Though words are stronger than silence, the only song I sung
Lost its verbs at Passchendaele, pronouns at Verdun.
The only lines I care to write extinguished by a blast of bright –
The lonely rows in Flanders Field shone luminous and white.
Why stand the crosses row on row? – What speech or silence, quick or slow
Could show itself on a barren hill, though the whole world listened, and were still?
A single Cross on a single hill may sing, if you stand and listen still.
Hear the ancient hymn of hope, grave and deep and low.
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