The West's asleep. Let England shake, weighted down with silent dead. I fear our blood won't rise again.
England's dancing days are done. Another day, Bobby, for you to come home & tell me indifference won.
Smile, smile Bobby, with your lovely mouth. Puck up your troubles, let's head out to the fountain of dead & splash about, swim back & forth & laugh out loud,
until the day is ending & the birds are silent in the branches, & the insects are courting in the bushes, & by the shores of lovely lakes heavy stones are falling.