No little victory we praise
This mellow day in June,
As down the way the chanting comes
Of many a martial tune.
No petty, passing sigh is ours,
No merely human prayer,
The news of every fresh-cut trench
Brings heartache everywhere.
For blue, blue eyes that smiled in ours,
And hearts that linked our own,
Wait wearied, longing for the charge,
Or maybe die --- alone.
Dear hands, dear fingers that we pressed,
No little niche is thine,
Where hero meets with hero on
The hills and plains divine.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 16 June 1915
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Old Qld Poetry
See also.
This mellow day in June,
As down the way the chanting comes
Of many a martial tune.
No petty, passing sigh is ours,
No merely human prayer,
The news of every fresh-cut trench
Brings heartache everywhere.
For blue, blue eyes that smiled in ours,
And hearts that linked our own,
Wait wearied, longing for the charge,
Or maybe die --- alone.
Dear hands, dear fingers that we pressed,
No little niche is thine,
Where hero meets with hero on
The hills and plains divine.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 16 June 1915
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Old Qld Poetry
See also.
