"That just reminds
me of a yarn," he said;
And everybody turned to
hear his tale.
He had a thousand yarns
inside his head.
They waited for him,
ready with their mirth
And creeping smiles, -
then suddenly turned pale,
Grew still, and gazed
upon the earth.
They heard no tale. No
further word was said.
And with his untold fun,
Half leaning on his gun,
They left him - dead.
“I
wear a cross of bronze,” he said,
“And men have told me I was brave.”
He
turned his head,
And pointing to a grave,
“They
told me that my work of war was done.”
His
fierce mouth set.
“And yet, and yet…..”
He trembled where he stood,
“And yet, and yet…..
I
have not won
That broken cross of wood.”
There
are strange trees in that pale field
Of
barren soil and bitter yield:
They
stand without the city walls;
Their
nakedness is unconcealed.
Cross
after cross, mound after mound,
And
no flowers blossom but are bound,
The
dying and the dead, in wreaths,
Sad
crowns for kings of Underground.
The
Forest of the Dead is still,
No
song of birds can ever thrill
Among
the sapless boughs that bear
No
fruit, no flower, for good or ill.
The
sun by day, the moon by night,
Give
terrible or tender light,
But
night or day the forest stands,
Unchanging,
desolately bright.
With
loving or unloving eye
Kinsman
and alien pass them by:
Do
the dead know, do the dead care,
Under
the forest as they lie?
To
each the tree above his head,
To
each the sign in which is said –
‘By
this thou art to overcome’:
Under
this forest sleep no dead.
These,
having life, gave life away:
Is
God less generous than they?
The
spirit passes and is free:
Oh,
hump your swag and leave, lads, the ships are in the bay —
We've
got our marching orders now, it's time to come away —
And
a long good-bye to Anzac Beach — where blood has flowed in vain
For we're leaving it, leaving it, game to
fight again!
But some there are will never quit this bleak
and bloody shore —
And
some that marched and fought with us will fight and march no more;
Their blood has bought till Judgment Day the
slopes they stormed so well,
And we're leaving them, leaving them, sleeping
where they fell.
(Leaving them, leaving them — the bravest and
the best —
Leaving
them, leaving them, and maybe glad to rest!
We've done our best with yesterday,
to-morrow's still our own —
But
we're leaving them, leaving them, sleeping all alone!)
Ay, they are gone beyond it all, the praising
and the blame,
And many a man may win renown, but none more
fair a fame;
They showed the world Australia's lads knew
well the way to die;
And we're leaving them, leaving them, quiet
where they lie.
(Leaving them, leaving them, sleeping where
they died;
Leaving them, leaving them, in their glory and
their pride —
Round
them sea and barren land, over them the sky,
Oh, We're leaving them, leaving them, quiet
where they lie!)
There
are some that go for love of a fight
And
some for love of a land,
And
some for a dream of the world set free
Which
they barely understand.
A
dream of the world set free from Hate--
But
splendidly, one and all,
Danger
they drink as 'twere wine of Life
And
jest as they reel and fall.
Clean
aims, rare faculties, strength and youth,
They
have poured them freely forth
For
the sake of the sun-steeped land they left
And
the far green isle in the north.
What
can we do to be worthy of them,
Now
hearts are breaking for pride?
Give
comfort at least to the wounded men
And
the kin of the man that died.
