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There are some that go for love of a fight
And some for love of a land, And some for a dream of the world set free Which they barely understand. A dream of the world set free from Hate-- But splendidly, one and all, Danger they drink as 'twere wine of Life And jest as they reel and fall. Clean aims, rare faculties, strength and youth, They have poured them freely forth For the sake of the sun-steeped land they left And the far green isle in the north. What can we do to be worthy of them, Now hearts are breaking for pride? Give comfort at least to the wounded men And the kin of the man that died. Dorothea Mackellar |
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