The heights of the Dorsai are barren.
  Nothing blooms where the bitter winds roam.
  The ghost of a piper is playing,
  For the sons who will never come home.
 
  The vales of the Dorsai are lonely.
  Now unheard, their swift cataracts roar.
  The wind wails among scorched foundations.
  For the daughters who'll build there no more.
 
  Call forth to the last field of battle.
  For defending the world of Man's birth,
  We longed for the cool skies of Dorsai,
  As we died at the gates of the Earth.
 
  Go and tell each new generation,
  We have heired them a legacy bold:
  The seed that was planted in Dorsai,
  Will bear fruit till the stars all grow cold.