Farewell To ANZAC

[Dave Homewood]

I just came across this poem that seemed to be published in many NZ newspapers in March 1916. Though Australia is mentioned it also fits the New Zealanders too:

FAREWELL TO ANZAC.
Oh! hump your swag and leave, lads,
the ships are in the bay,
We've got our marching orders now,
it's time to come away,
And a long good-bye to Anzac beach,
where blood has flowed in vain,
For we're leaving it, leaving it,
game to fight again!

But some there are will never quit
this bleak and bloody shore,
And some that marched and fought with us
will fight and march no more;
Their blood has bought till Judgment Day
the slopes they stormed so well,
And we're leaving them, leaving them
sleeping where they fell!

(Leaving them, leaving them —
the bravest and the best!
Leaving them, leaving them, —
and may-be glad to rest!
We did our best with yesterday,
tomorrow's still our own,—
But we're leaving them, leaving them,
sleeping all alone!)

Ay, they are gone beyond it all,
the praising and the blame,
And many a man may win renown,
but none more fair a fame;
They showed the world Australia's lads
knew well the way to die,
And we're leaving them, leaving them,
quiet where they lie!

(Leaving them, leaving them,
sleeping where they died!
Leaving them, leaving them,
in their glory and their pride!
Round them sea and barren land,
over them the sky,
Oh! we're leaving them, leaving them,
quiet where they lie!) —

C. Fox Smith, in the London "Spectator."

[planecrazy]

Dave I hope you don't mind a hi-jack, please feel free to move this if you wish.
I have this great book "The Sky Their Battlefield" by Audrey Grealy full of wartime
aviation related poems The following piece is not credited with an author and nor
is it an ANZAC poem, is does mention both Australians and New Zealanders, it is
one of my favorites, Lest we forget.

Scampton Churchyard

They lie together in quiet peace
Of grassy graves, sun dappled by the trees,
The stones a little mossy with the years,
Their requiem the humming of the bees.

The English boy whose wings are folded now,
That badge hard-won in blazing shell-torn skies,
No more the cricket field, the Sunday tea,
The lazy river days, the college ties.

The young Canadian sleeps in English soil,
For him no journey home, no more he'll know
The gold and scarlet maples in the fall,
The pines and bob-sleighs in the dazzling snow,

The boy who came from far Australian shores
He made his final everlasting flight,
No more for him the golden sunlit beach,
The pounding surf, the southern cross by night.

The flier from New Zealand is at rest,
His brave young heart has flown beyond return,
Beyond the snowy mountain peaks of home,
The sparkling lakes, the geysers and the fern.

Beside them now, in mute companionship,
The German lad lies in the English loam,
His short life shattered in a foreign sky,
No more to see his family home.

We take our lives for granted - but we should
Be grateful for each day we start anew,
And think, for one small moment, of these boys
Who only reached the age of twenty-two.