Now restless night doth me pursue,
And fiends do tempt my soul to hell.
Ah! gentle maid, if you but knew
My inner shrine, and it could tell
My hidden love, as deep, as true,
As gentle as sweet birds at play;
Drift back, bright star, and comfort me
In this unending, dreary day.
V. N. Hopkins,
Pte., A.M.C., att. 17th Aust. Bn.