The bugler sent a call of high romance-
“Lights out! Lights out!” to the deserted square.
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
“God, if it's this for me next time in France …
O spare the phantom bugle as I lie
Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with the other broken ones
Lying so stiff and still under the sky,
Jolly young Fusiliers too good to die.”
The Last Post
Robert Graves
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Poem topics: god, romance, sky, time, good, young, broken, square, high, prayer, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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Colonel G. Bruce Eveland: Absolutely beautiful prom
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