For all of my love cannot justice do
A rose slaughtered for a war bouquet,
For all the merriments of May
Where bugles cry the mornings thru
On love, and love as tragic as true,
Where eagles shed and talons slay
The blossoms where the petals lay,
All blood to soak the feathers through.
For all my heart cannot honor give
The blood of blood from petals bled
On fields, and fields where roses rest
Where all their memories relive
From heart to head and hand to shedA boutonniere upon my chest.