And we strain our eyes from the transport deck, but "Anzac" is out of sight!
Valley and shore are vanished; vanished are cliff and hill;
And we'll never go back to "Anzac" ... But I think that some of us will!
GALLIPOLI
[By L. H. ALLEN, in the Sydney Morning Herald.]
1
Winter is here, and in the setting sun
York's[1] giant bluff is kindled with the ray
That smites his gnarléd sides of red and dun:
And the spired obelisk that points the way
Where heroes looked, the first of English blood
To break the spell of Silence with a cry
Startling the ancient sleep in prophecy
Of you, my people of the Lion-brood.
2