All through frost and foe and constant shell fire
Your livid lips renege not on your smiles,
Whose crease of grace lights your faces entire.
And your martial vow of restraint fails
Not your spirit of fight against these waves
Of aberrant hordes on frosty peaks
Then your rocky ride in your upward heave
For tops of capture in icy winds peaks
With charm of daring gods would envy.
Through gunfire cried you not from wounds of pain,
But rose to rarefied rungs of glory.
Defending us, prattlers, the country's bane.
Ill-armed you fought the war triumphing heights.
Your icy monument no more you bites.