Malaria
You, with your winding, creeping course,What of the men of our Southern Horse?Valley of night, with your wingèd pest,What of our heroes now at rest,Down by your Dead, salt Sea?What of the ones we have left behind?What of these men of our kith and kind,Nigh where your blood streams hiss?Better the true and unerring shot!Better the Death when their blood runs hot—Than this,Malaria! Malaria!You, with your agèd river’s flow,What of our Riders laid below?Valley of Death, with your torpid heat,Look where your swirling hill streams meet,Down by your Dead, salt Sea!Look to the ones on your mounded knoll!Look to the ones of your chosen toll!Those of your fevered kiss!Better the blast of the rending shell!Better the toll of the War God’s knell,Than this,Malaria! Malaria!“KOOLAWARRA.”
You, with your winding, creeping course,What of the men of our Southern Horse?Valley of night, with your wingèd pest,What of our heroes now at rest,Down by your Dead, salt Sea?What of the ones we have left behind?What of these men of our kith and kind,Nigh where your blood streams hiss?Better the true and unerring shot!Better the Death when their blood runs hot—Than this,Malaria! Malaria!You, with your agèd river’s flow,What of our Riders laid below?Valley of Death, with your torpid heat,Look where your swirling hill streams meet,Down by your Dead, salt Sea!Look to the ones on your mounded knoll!Look to the ones of your chosen toll!Those of your fevered kiss!Better the blast of the rending shell!Better the toll of the War God’s knell,Than this,Malaria! Malaria!“KOOLAWARRA.”
You, with your winding, creeping course,What of the men of our Southern Horse?Valley of night, with your wingèd pest,What of our heroes now at rest,Down by your Dead, salt Sea?What of the ones we have left behind?What of these men of our kith and kind,Nigh where your blood streams hiss?Better the true and unerring shot!Better the Death when their blood runs hot—Than this,Malaria! Malaria!
You, with your winding, creeping course,
What of the men of our Southern Horse?
Valley of night, with your wingèd pest,
What of our heroes now at rest,
Down by your Dead, salt Sea?
What of the ones we have left behind?
What of these men of our kith and kind,
Nigh where your blood streams hiss?
Better the true and unerring shot!
Better the Death when their blood runs hot—
Than this,
Malaria! Malaria!
You, with your agèd river’s flow,What of our Riders laid below?Valley of Death, with your torpid heat,Look where your swirling hill streams meet,Down by your Dead, salt Sea!Look to the ones on your mounded knoll!Look to the ones of your chosen toll!Those of your fevered kiss!Better the blast of the rending shell!Better the toll of the War God’s knell,Than this,Malaria! Malaria!
You, with your agèd river’s flow,
What of our Riders laid below?
Valley of Death, with your torpid heat,
Look where your swirling hill streams meet,
Down by your Dead, salt Sea!
Look to the ones on your mounded knoll!
Look to the ones of your chosen toll!
Those of your fevered kiss!
Better the blast of the rending shell!
Better the toll of the War God’s knell,
Than this,
Malaria! Malaria!
“KOOLAWARRA.”
“KOOLAWARRA.”