By the Grey Gulf-Water

By Andrew Barton Paterson (`Banjo')

Born 2/17/1864


Far to the Northward there lies a land,
         A wonderful land that the winds blow over,
And none may fathom nor understand
         The charm it holds for the restless rover;
A great grey chaos -- a land half made,
         Where endless space is and no life stirreth;
And the soul of a man will recoil afraid
         From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth.
But old Dame Nature, though scornful, craves
         Her dole of death and her share of slaughter;
Many indeed are the nameless graves
         Where her victims sleep by the Grey Gulf-water.

Slowly and slowly those grey streams glide,
         Drifting along with a languid motion,
Lapping the reed-beds on either side,
         Wending their way to the Northern Ocean.
Grey are the plains where the emus pass
         Silent and slow, with their staid demeanour;
Over the dead men's graves the grass
         Maybe is waving a trifle greener.
Down in the world where men toil and spin
         Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her;
Only the dead men her smiles can win
         In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water.

For the strength of man is an insect's strength
         In the face of that mighty plain and river,
And the life of a man is a moment's length
         To the life of the stream that will run for ever.
And so it cometh they take no part
         In small-world worries; each hardy rover
Rideth abroad and is light of heart,
         With the plains around and the blue sky over.
And up in the heavens the brown lark sings
         The songs that the strange wild land has taught her;
Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings --
         And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water.

DayPoems Poem No. 936
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/936.html">By the Grey Gulf-Water by Andrew Barton Paterson (`Banjo')</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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