Dear, we might have known you were
To die young--and were we blind
To the light on face and hair?
Dear, so simple and so kind.

You were clean as your own sword
And as straight too and steel true.
In the Army of the Lord
What promotion waits for you!

I can see you where you stand,
Knightly soul, so clean, so brave.
With a new sword in your hand
Where the lilied banners wave.

Flower of simple chivalry,
Marked for honour and for grace;
It was very plain to see
The clear shining of your face.

You are gone now: it's turned cold:
Very good you were and dear.
Wear the looks you wore of old
When we meet,--some other year.