THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD.
Preserve thy sighs, unthrifty girl, To purify the air! Thy tears to thread, instead of pearl, On bracelets of thy hair. The trumpet makes the echo hoarse And wakes the louder drum. Expense of grief gains no remorse, When sorrow should be dumb. For I must go where lazy Peace Will hide her drowsy head. And, for the sport of kings, increase The number of the dead. But, first. I’ll chide thy cruel theft; Can I in war delight, Who (being of my heart bereft) Can have no heart to fight? Thou knowst, the sacred laws of old Ordained a theif should pay, To quit him of his theft, sevenfold What he had stolen away. Thy payment shall but double be, Oh then with speed resign My own seduced heart to me, Accompanied with thine. —SIR W. DAVENAXT.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TS19230428.2.123.2.5
Bibliographic details
Star (Christchurch), Issue 17027, 28 April 1923, Page 1 (Supplement)
Word Count
144THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD. Star (Christchurch), Issue 17027, 28 April 1923, Page 1 (Supplement)
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