The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.
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I do not read it as an epitaph for a generation. I read it as being about the world's slow stain, which some of the youths that come in for the fair are fortunate to avoid by dying before the next May, 's fair. Geoffrey Plowden.
No finer epitaph for a lost generation has ever been written. It is worth listening to George Butterworth's setting of this poem.
To my first comment, I would add that this poem was published in 1896. twenty years before the events that led to the loss of a generation..