Invictus
If

High Wood
Anthem for Doomed Youth
Dulce et Decorum Est
I Stood with the Dead
In Flanders Fields
The Soldier

Seven Ages of Man
Once more unto the breach
St Crispin's Day

John Hewitt
Rewriting the Soundbite
Carrickfergus

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What passing beIls for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen