The Fallen

O Sleep sleep on the wings of night
Shroud all the gold of dying day
The last spear-shafts of ruddy light
In purpling shadows melt away
Come regally, O night, and crown
With blazing stars their common grave
The new-turned earth mounld sere and brown
Where sleep the brave.

Shed soft oblivion o’er their rest,
Thy maiden’s rey their pillows smooth,
Lay sweet nepenthe on each breast,
Their dreaming roothe
O south wind, lavishly oh fling,
Soft incense as you passing high
Of wattle fire, and crooning sing
Of tall trees soughing lullaby.

Of silver notes of gurgling streams
That prattle o’er their pebbly bed,
Such scenes as these and sunset’s gleams
With rest are wed.
O lapping waves, break soft and croon
A benison from the deep
In your soft singing, soothing rune
For these our dead

Awake, the slender hands of fame
Are clasping banners of the day,
The silver flash of glory’s flame
Shines on the laurel wreath and bay;
Triumphant still, freedom and truth,
Our lode-star and their oriflamme,
The jewel of Australia’s youth
Is still aflame.

These brave, who died tat silver bands
Of Austral’s honour might not break,
We leave within their Maker’s hands
For Austral’s sake.

GALLIPOLI, July 1915