The world around is sleeping, <br /> The stars are bright o'erhead, <br />The shades of myalls weeping <br /> Upon the sward are spread; <br />Among the gloomy pinetops <br /> The fitful breezes blow, <br />And their murmurs seem the music <br /> Of a song of long ago; <br />Soft, passionate, and wailing <br /> Is the tender old refrain - <br />With a yearning unavailing - <br /> "Will he no come back again?" <br /> <br />The camp-fire sparks are flying <br /> Up from the pine-log's glow, <br />The wandering wind is sighing <br /> That ballad sweet and low; <br />The drooping branches gleaming <br /> In the firelight, sway and stir; <br />And the bushman's brain is dreaming <br /> Of the song she sang, and her. <br />And the murmurs of the forest <br /> Ring home to heart and brain, <br />As in the pine is chorused <br /> "Wi11 he no come back again?"<br /><br />Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-thought/
