THE SLAIN ONES.
What of the gallant dead Borne from the field? Oh, the draped, silent- head, The empty shield 1 Kiss the swift moveless feet: That won their goal; Crown the unseeing brow, Joy to that deathless ioul! What of the gallant hearts Slain, that live on, Who eat their daily bread When joy is done? Nay, not for them the wreath, The bugle's note; Theirs to ta6te morn and night The sword within their throat. What of the gallant hearts Slain, that mu6t live? God of the Shrouded Hands, Small they forgive?
—Florence Wilkinson.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/HNS19050815.2.42.2
Bibliographic details
Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume XLVIII, Issue 8973, 15 August 1905, Page 6
Word Count
96THE SLAIN ONES. Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume XLVIII, Issue 8973, 15 August 1905, Page 6
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