William Dunseath Eaton, Great Poems of the World War
“ Once more the Flemish children shall laugh through Flemish lanes, And gather happy garlands through fields of bygone pains, And, as they run and cull their flowers, sing in their simple strains: “These clovers are for English who fought to save this sod, These lilies for the valiant French—may their souls rest in God! And for the brave Americans we pluck this goldenrod.” ”
