We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave

At the foot of the Eaglehawk;

We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave

For fear that his ghost might walk;

We carved his name on a bloodwood tree

With the date of his sad decease

And in place of "Died from effects of spree"

We wrote "May he rest...

Sweet is the swamp with its secrets,

Until we meet a snake;

'Tis then we sigh for houses,

And our departure take


At that enthralling gallop

That only childhood knows.

A snake is summer's treason,

And guile is where it goes.

Sweet Mountains — Ye tell Me no lie —

Never deny Me — Never fly —

Those same unvarying Eyes

Turn on Me — when I fail — or feign,

Or take the Royal names in vain —

Their far — slow — Violet Gaze —


My Strong Madonnas — Cherish still —

The Wayward Nun — beneath the Hill —

Whose...

Sweet Skepticism of the Heart —

That knows — and does not know —

And tosses like a Fleet of Balm —

Affronted by the snow —

Invites and then retards the Truth

Lest Certainty be sere

Compared with the delicious throe

Of transport thrilled with Fear —