We have left Gul Kach behind us,
Are marching on Apozai,–
Where pleasure and rest are waiting
To welcome us by and by.
We’re falling back from the Gomal,
Across the Gir-dao plain,
The camping ground is deserted,
We’ll never come back again.
Along the rocks and the defiles,
The mules and the camels wind.
Good-bye to Rahimut-Ullah,
The man who is left behind.
For some we lost in the skirmish,
And some were killed in the fight,
But he was captured by fever,
In the sentry pit, at night.
A rifle shot had been swifter,
Less trouble a sabre thrust,
But his Fate decided fever,
And each man dies as he must.
Behind us, red in the distance.
The wavering flames rise high,
The flames of our burning grass-huts,
Against the black of the sky.
We hear the sound of the river,
An ever-lessening moan,
The hearts of us all turn backwards
To where he is left alone.
We sing up a little louder,
We know that we feel bereft,
We’re leaving the camp together,
And only one of us left.
The only one, out of many,
And each must come to his end,
I wish I could stop this singing,
He happened to be my friend.
We’re falling back from the Gomal
We’re marching on Apozai,
And pleasure and rest are waiting
To welcome us by and by.
Perhaps the feast will taste bitter,
The lips of the girls less kind,–
Because of Rahimut-Ullah,
The man who is left behind!

A few random poems:
- Николай Языков – Жизни баловень счастливый
- Flowers From Sion: Sonnet 25 – More oft than once death whispered by William Drummond
- Николай Заболоцкий – Портрет
- Mules poem – Yuyutsu Sharma poems | Poetry Monster
- The Woods At Night by May Swenson
- Владимир Степанов – Рассказ оружейника
- Sonnet 83: I never saw that you did painting need by William Shakespeare
- Wish by W. S. Merwin
- Николай Некрасов – Вор
- Elegy III. Anno Aet. 17. On The Death Of The Bishop Of Winchester (Translated From Milton) by William Cowper
- My Friends by W. S. Merwin
- The Hermit poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster
- Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck (Sonnet 14) by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 42: That thou hast her, it is not all my grief by William Shakespeare
- Song—A Fiddler in the North by Robert Burns
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- The Haymakers’ Song poem – Alfred Austin
- Love’s Blindness poem – Alfred Austin
- At Her Grave poem – Alfred Austin
- At Delphi poem – Alfred Austin
- As Dies The Year poem – Alfred Austin
- Any Poet At Any Time poem – Alfred Austin
- An Experiment In Translation poem – Alfred Austin
- An Autumn Picture poem – Alfred Austin
- An Autumn Homily poem – Alfred Austin
- An Autumn-Blooming Rose poem – Alfred Austin
- An April Love poem – Alfred Austin
- An April Fool poem – Alfred Austin
- An Answer poem – Alfred Austin
- “Although no stupid scoffer, I” poem – Alfred Austin
- All Hail To The Czar! poem – Alfred Austin
- Alfred’s Song poem – Alfred Austin
- A Te Deum poem – Alfred Austin
- A Tale Of True Love poem – Alfred Austin
- A Spring Carol poem – Alfred Austin
- A Souless Singer poem – Alfred Austin
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Violet Nicolson ( 1865 – 1904); otherwise known as Adela Florence Nicolson (née Cory), was an English poetess who wrote under the pseudonym of Laurence Hope, however she became known as Violet Nicolson. In the early 1900s, she became a best-selling author. She committed suicide and is buried in Madras, now Chennai, India.