Here you will find the Poem The Wounded of poet John Le Gay Brereton
Stupidity and Selfishness and Fear, Who hold enslaved the intellect of Man, Have found their victims here. We saw them go, alert to seek the van Where phantom Glory showered her withering leaves; Now they return who can. Slowly, full-fraught with pain, the vessel heaves From labouring seas, and creeps along the bay To where the city grieves. Happy are those who limp the dusty way; And those whose eyes can meet the loving glance, Happy indeed are they. But mock them not with babble of romance: They have glared at death across the orient rocks Or in the mire of France. O welcome to your land of herds and flocks And fields that pray toward a fairy sky That promises and mocks. Welcome! our eyes are strained and sorrow-dry, Watching for peace and you, and every heart Would fain, but cannot, cry. For you who, led by love, have borne your part Where war's black ploughshare turns the bloody sand And crops of hatred start For you and by your help, heroic band, We swear by love and labour to make this A lovelier, worthier land. Nor shall we let the home-bred serpent hiss Unscotched upon our hearth, if ever here Our hope and fortune kiss. The workers of the battered world draw near, Scorning a foeman's name. The heart of Man In every land is dear.
