Academic journal article Hecate

We Are the Sons Dymphna Cusack

Academic journal article Hecate

We Are the Sons Dymphna Cusack

Article excerpt

We are the songs that, silenced in their singing,

Lost in the choking of some youthful breast

Poignant and endless, wistful echoes ringing

Come floating to you down the halls of death.

We are the dreams the dreamers never ended,

Spun from the phantom gold of youth and star

Full of the joy that faith and hope had blended,

Come stealing to you from some world afar.

We are the hopes that never reached fruition

Death-cheated on the threshold of their life

Woven of youth's mad and deathless courage

Stricken as men fell in a mortal strife.

We are the flames that leapt with clean young passing

We are the shadows of lost loved desires;

Fraught with sharp pain and restless sudden laughter

We come like drifting smoke of shadowy fires.

We are the sons who wander in the silence

Never to quicken in the pangs of birth,

Shut out from human loves and human struggle

And all the brave young pageantry of earth.

Dymphna Cusack c.1934

On ANZAC Day 1927 Dymphna Cusack began writing out a constant theme in her political activities-"war's tragic waste" - with her piece on Rupert Brooke and his poetry in the Sydney Morning Herald. In her 1930 short story "The Gateway," Dymphna commemorated her Uncle Matthew Crowley's death from wounds received at Gallipoli in May 1915, her Uncle John Nicholas Crowley's death at Passchendaele in October 1917 and, most tragic of all, her Cousin Reg Crowley's death aged just nineteen at Villers-Breton in April 1918. …

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