C. Daylewis(1904–1972)

("I've heard them lilting at loom and belting")

I've heard them lilting at loom and belting, 1

Lasses lilting before dawn of day:

But now they are silent, not gamesome and gallant—

The flowers of the town are rotting away.

There was laughter and loving in the lanes at evening;

Handsome were the boys then, and girls were gay.

But lost in Flanders2 by medalled commanders

The lads of the village are vanished away.

Cursed be the promise that takes our men from us—

All will be champion if you choose to obey:

They fight against hunger but still it is stronger—

The prime of our land grows cold as the clay.

The women are weary, once lilted so merry,

Waiting to marry for a year and a day:

From wooing and winning, from owning or earning

The flowers of the town are all turned away.