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Wy Yung

BEYOND the ridge of Never Forget
Is 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 lies
Where curlews call and the reed-beds shiver,
And Time is a sorrow that never dies
In 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 bells' 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 will
Nor softened a line on its face abhorred,
Gapped are the gum-trees on Calvert's hill
Like time-thinned hairs on an old man's forehead;
And a spectre stalks through the dappled maize
Where dead flags rustle and tassels quiver,
A spectre dark as the bygone days
In old Wy Yung by the Mitchell river.