The hour was near for starting
Ere Vimy ridge was won,
And we said 'Good luck' at parting
As we had often done
In folly, sport or fun.

(For love and pride and passion
With speech accord but ill,
And if we had skill to fashion
Brave words to speak our fill,
We should be speaking still).

All dreams men strive and sigh for,
Or lose beyond recall,
The things men live and die for,
The great things and the small -
Our 'Good luck' meant them all.

'To each his dear ambition
As unto each seems best,
Love's crown or fate's fruition,
The fame, the medaled breast . . .
And to the dead their rest!'