No mighty architecture marks their grave;
Across the covering earth no flow'rs are strown;
No fiery letters cut in carven stone
Burn splendid syllables above the brave.
But crag, and cliff, and sand form fitting pave,
And drifting dust by gutt'ral sea-winds blown,
Writhes o'er the rocks the screeching guns have known,
To requiem of long Aegean wave.
Then sleep! Uncaring, sleep, O happy dead!
And when the tides upgathered swirl and sweep,
And the resurgent seas roll by and strain --
Appassionato round your rugged bed --
Still slumber on! The centuries will reap
This seed - souls of the fallen born again!
First published in The Argus, 24 April 1920
