Aubade for Anzacs

Now from the gently-swelling flood profound

The sun arising, with his earliest rays

In his ascent to heaven smote on the fields

When Greeks and Trojans met. Scarce could the slain

Be clear distinguish'd, but they cleansed from each

His clotted gore with water, and warm tears

Distilling copious, heaved them to the wains.

But wailing none was heard, for such command

Had Priam issued; therefore heaping high

The bodies, silent and with sorrowing hearts

They burn'd them, and to sacred Troy return'd.

(From William Cowper's translation of Homer's Iliad)