Too fast to yonder strand forlorn
We journey, to the sunken bourn,
To flush the fading tinges eyed
By other lads at eventide.
We journey, to the sunken bourn,
To flush the fading tinges eyed
By other lads at eventide.
Wide is the world, to rest or roam,
And early 'tis for turning home:
Plant your heel on earth and stand,
And let's forget our native land.
And early 'tis for turning home:
Plant your heel on earth and stand,
And let's forget our native land.
When you and I are spilt on air
Long we shall be strangers there;
Friends of flesh and bone are best:
Comrade, look not on the west.
Long we shall be strangers there;
Friends of flesh and bone are best:
Comrade, look not on the west.
❦
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