大象传媒

Dedicated to the Battle of Britain pilots, September 1940

They died the finest sort of death
In fighting for their Cause,
They who generously gave all
Without a moment's pause.
They were so young, and bright of eye,
They laughed to face the foe.
What thoughts they had, what dreams they dreamed,
We cannot hope to know.

They, in their brief span of years,
Achieved immortal fame.
And wrote upon the clear blue sky
A white, undying name.
That every heart beats fast to see
That makes one thrill with pride.
For they were lads whom England bred
And for her sake they died.

And sometimes when the dusk is gathering,
When the quiet of evening stills,
When the sun sinks in the Westward,
And purple grow the distant hills.
Tis then I think their spirits wander
Through the land they loved so well.
In their hearts serene contentment,
It was for all this, that they fell.

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