While The Billy BoilsSearchBlacksoil plains were grey soil, grey soil in the drought.Fifteen years away, and five hundred miles out;Swag and bag and billy carried all our careBefore we were married, and I wish that I were there.
River banks were grassy—grassy in the bends,Running through the land where mateship never ends;We belled the lazy fishing lines and droned the time awayBefore we were married, and I wish it were to-day.
Working down the telegraph—winters’ gales and rainsCross the tumbled scenery of Marlborough “plains”,Beach and bluff and cook’s tent—and the cook was a “cow”Before we were married, but I wish that it was now.
The rolling road to Melbourne, and grey-eyed girl in fur—One arm to a stanchion—and one round her;Seat abaft the skylight when the moon had set—Before she was married, and I wish it wasn’t yet.