Sydney Thompson Dobell
Sydney Thompson Dobell Poems
Can I see thee stand
On the looming land?
Dost thou wave with thy white hand
I could think that thou art near,
Thy sweet voice is in mine ear,
While I listen, all things seem
Singing in a singing dream,
Echoing in an echoing dream,
Yon boat upon the sea,
It floats 'twixt thee and me,
I see the boatman listless lie;
He cannot hear the cry
That in mine ears doth ring
Doth it pass him o'er and o'er,
Heard upon the shore ...
YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.