<h2><SPAN name="poem19"></SPAN>WHEN THE REGIMENT CAME BACK</h2>
<p class="poetry">All the uniforms were blue, all the swords were
bright and new,<br/>
When the regiment went marching down the street,<br/>
All the men were hale and strong as they proudly moved along,<br/>
Through the cheers that drowned the music of their
feet.<br/>
Oh the music of the feet keeping time to drums that beat,<br/>
Oh the splendour and the glitter of the sight,<br/>
As with swords and rifles new and in uniforms of blue<br/>
The regiment went marching to the fight!</p>
<p class="poetry">When the regiment came back all the guns and
swords were black<br/>
And the uniforms had faded out to gray,<br/>
And the faces of the men who marched through that street again<br/>
Seemed like faces of the dead who lose their way.<br/>
For the dead who lose their way cannot look more wan and gray.<br/>
Oh the sorrow and the pity of the sight,<br/>
Oh the weary lagging feet out of step with drums that beat,<br/>
As the regiment comes marching from the fight.</p>
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