While The Billy BoilsSearchBy blacksoil plains burned grey with droughtWhere desert shrubs and grasses grow,Along the Land of Furthest OutThat only Overlanders know.I dreamed I camped on river grassIn bends where river timber grew—I dreamed, I dreamed the days to passTill all the bad things came untrue.
I dreamed that I was young again,But was not young as I had been,My path through life seemed fair and plain,My sight and hearing clear and keen.No longer bent nor lined and grey,I met and loved and worshipped you—I dreamed, I dreamed the days awayTill all the sad things came untrue.
I dreamed a home of freestone stoodWith toned tiled roofs as roofs should be,By cliff and fall and beach and woodWith wide verandahs to the sea.I dreamed a hale gudeman and wife,With sons and daughters well-to-do,Lived there the glorious old home lifeAnd all the mad things were untrue.
From blacksoil plains burned bare with droughtWhere years are sown that never grow—From dead grey creeks of dreams and drought,Through black-ridged wastes of weirdest woe,I tramped and camped with fearsome fareUntil the sea-scape came in view,And lo! the home lay smiling thereAnd all the bad things were untrue.