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The Kia ora coo-ee : the magazine for the ANZACS in the Middle East, 1918



The Dusk is gently rounding home its sheep
Into great pens of blindness, ringed of stars;
And little sheep are homing, too, to me,
Deep-bleating, for the vastness night unbars.

And little mouths a-browsing far all day
Are nearina meadow-sweet of balm untold,
And staying flocks of mem'ry flit anew
Amid the gliding fleeces of the fold.

For Dusk is but a shepherd, too, as I,
Of sightless herding' neath the wand of sleep,
And, on its hush, oft to the hush of me
Comesstrange, returning palter of lost sheep.