Killed
at Gallipoli April, 1915
By
Philadelphia Nina Robertson
Dead—and that is all!
His portrait smiles from the wall,
And the spikes of the bulbs he set
Have not pierced the brown earth yet.
Dead! Some say "at rest,”
Ah no! That were not the best—
Death could not quench the zeal
That flamed for his Empire’s weal.
Dead! But oh, my heart,
Still shall he do his part,
Still he shall hold his post—
One of a Shining Host.
Dead—but he shall go
Wherever our bugles blow,
And his gallant soul, set free,
Shall help on each victory.
No comments:
Post a Comment