John Henry Boner - The Old Guard lyrics

Summer is routed from her rosy plains, The splendid queen with colors flying fled Far to the south, leaving her legions dead Upon the fields all in the dismal rains. The minstrels of her camp most plaintive strains Piped as they flew. Then vandal armies spread About the hills their tattered tents of red And gold and purple and their gaudy trains Usurped the valleys, firing as they went, Till, halted by a cordon of grim pines That would not yield nor furl their banners green. Wounded they fought and moaned, though wellnigh spent. With blood-drops trickling down their chevron vines They fought, and stood—the Old Guard of their queen.