Anthem for Doomed Youth

I've just finished writing  my next Daisy Dalrymple mystery, the 19th. The title is Anthem for Doomed Youth, borrowed from a poem by Wilfred Owen, a poet who died in action in Flanders a week before the Armistice. As you can guess from the title, even without reading the poem, the book has a fairly sombre theme, but don't worry, Daisy comes through as cheerful as ever!

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?  Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
 Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
 No mockeries for them from prayers or bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
  The shrill, dementedchoirs of wailing shells;  And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?  Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
 Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.  The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;  Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,  And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

It always makes me tear up.