Hushed are the raving, choking cries,The dying groans.A something stark and staring liesAmong the stones.The carrion crow full-gutted fliesFrom clean-picked bones.
A trim-built cottage o’er the Bight,An empty chair,A woman weeping in the nightIn lone despairSobbing to sleep a chubby mite —His eyes; his hair.
Bitter the tears that well and flowWhere Death holds sway.Heavy the hearts that come and goNear coffined clay.But life-long their grief who may not knowThe yea or nay.
Sources, publication & text notesReference details
Canonical recordPOEM-001856
Copy-textDryblower’s Verses (1926), selected Institute of Australian Culture text; independently checked against the State Library Victoria facsimile, print pp. 52–52
While The Billy BoilsSearch