While The Billy BoilsSearchBeyond the ridge of Never ForgetIs a grey ghost land where no glad gleam flashes,Where run the rivers of Old Regret,And the red fruit withers to dust and ashes.Over the edge of the World it liesWhere curlews call and the reed beds shiver,And Time is a sorrow that never diesIn old Wy Yung by the Mitchell river.
There youth came tripping with lightsome feet,Brave youth with the clog of a curse upon it,Where poppies flamed in the whispering wheat,And young winds tilted the blue bell’s bonnet:Sad youth came sighing with heart athirst,And a passionate prayer to the Cosmic Giver:Ah, God! for the faith that was fairest, first,In old Wy Yung by the Mitchell river.
Change on the grey land has worked his willNor softened a line on its face abhorred,Gapped are the gum trees on Calvert’s hillLike time-thinned hairs on an old man’s forehead;And a spectre stalks thro’ the dappled maizeWhere dead flags rustle and tassels quiver,A spectre dark as the bygone daysIn old Wy Yung by the Mitchell river.