Adam Lindsay Gordon

Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blossoms wave, With never stone or rail to fence my bed; Should the sturdy station children pull the bush flowers on my grave, I may chance to hear them romping overhead.

He never gave me a chance to speak, And he call’d her—worse than a dog— The girl stood up with a crimson cheek, And I fell’d him there like a log.I can feel the blow on my knuckles yet— He feels it more on his brow. In a thousand years we …

Question not, but live and labour Till yon goal be won, Helping every feeble neighbour, Seeking help from none; Life is mostly froth and bubble; Two things stand like stone,

Onward onward! must we travel? When will come the goal? Riddle I may not unravel, Cease to vex my soul.