Far to the Northward there lies a land, <br />A wonderful land that the winds blow over, <br />And none may fathom or understand <br />The charm it holds for the restless rover; <br />A great grey chaos -- a land half made, <br />Where endless space is and no life stirreth; <br />There the soul of a man will recoil afraid <br />From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth. <br />But old Dame Nature, though scornful, craves <br />Her dole of death and her share of slaughter; <br />Many indeed are the nameless graves <br />Where her victims sleep by the Grey Gulf-water. <br />Slowly and slowly those grey streams glide, <br />Drifting along with a languid motion, <br />Lapping the reed-beds on either side, <br />Wending their way to the North Ocean. <br />Grey are the plains where the emus pass <br />Silent and slow, with their dead demeanour; <br />Over the dead man's graves the grass <br />Maybe is waving a trifle greener. <br />Down in the world where men toil and spin <br />Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her; <br />Only the dead men her smiles can win <br />In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water. <br /> <br />For the strength of man is an insect's strength <br />In the face of that mighty plain and river, <br />And the life of a man is a moment's length <br />To the life of the stream that will run for ever. <br />And so it comes that they take no part <br />In small world worries; each hardy rover <br />Rides like a paladin, light of heart, <br />With the plains around and the blue sky over. <br />And up in the heavens the brown lark sings <br />The songs the strange wild land has taught her; <br />Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings -- <br />And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water.<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-the-grey-gulf-water-2/
