We meet and part now over all the… we, the lost company, take hands together in the night,… the night in our brief happiness,… We, who sought many things, throw…

You who were darkness warmed my fl… where out of darkness rose the see… Then all a world I made in me; all the world you hear and see hung upon my dreaming blood.

South of my days’ circle, part of… rises that tableland, high delicat… of bony slopes wincing under the w… low trees, blue—leaved and olive,… clean, lean, hungry country. The c…

Over the west side of the mountain… that’s lyrebird country. I could go down there, they say, i… and I’d see them, I’d hear them. Ten years, and I have never gone.

The song is gone; the dance is secret with the dancers in the… the ritual useless, and the tribal… lost in an alien tale. Only the grass stands up

The small blue Arab stallion danc… like a glancing breaker, like a st… In his prick-ears, the wind, that… sings of the dunes of Arabia, lion… The small blue stallion poses like…

That time of drought the embered a… burned to the roots of timber and… The crackling lime-scrub would not… and Mooni Creek was sand that yea… The dingo’s cry was strange to hea…

The day was clear as fire, the birds sang frail as glass, when thirsty I came to the creek and fell by its side in the grass. My breast on the bright moss

When I was a child I saw a burning bird in a tree. I see became I am, I am became I see. In winter dawns of frost

He thrust his joy against the weig… climbed through, slid under those… foam— (hawthorn hedges in spring, thorns… How his brown strength drove throu…

The eyeless labourer in the night, the selfless, shapeless seed I hol… builds for its resurrection day— silent and swift and deep from sig… foresees the unimagined light.

I saw our golden years on a black… our time of love spilt in the furi… ‘O we are winter-caught, and we mu… said the dark dream, ‘and time is… —And woke into the night; but you…

When summer days grow harsh my thoughts return to my river, fed by white mountain springs, beloved of the shy bird, the bellb… whose cry is like falling water.

The blacksmith’s boy went out with… and a black dog running behind. Cobwebs snatched at his feet, rivers hindered him, thorn branches caught at his eyes…

Having known war and peace and loss and finding, I drink my coffee and wait for the sun to rise, With kitchen swept, cat fed,