They're shifting old North Sydney— <br />Perhaps ’tis just as well— <br />They’re carting off the houses <br />Where the old folks used to dwell. <br />Where only ghosts inhabit <br />They lay the old shops low; <br />But the Spirit of North Sydney, <br />It vanished long ago. <br /> <br />The Spirit of North Sydney, <br />The good old time and style, <br />It camped, maybe, at Crow’s Nest, <br />But only for a while. <br />It left about the season, <br />Or at the time, perhaps, <br />When old Inspector Cotter <br />Transferred his jokes and traps. <br /> <br />A brand new crowd is thronging <br />The brand new streets aglow <br />Where the Spirit of North Sydney <br />Would gossip long ago. <br />They will not know to-morrow— <br />Tho’ ’twere but yesterday— <br />Exactly how McMahon’s Point <br />And its ferry used to lay. <br /> <br />The good old friendly spirit <br />Its sorrows would unfold, <br />When householders were neighbours <br />And shop-keeping was old; <br />But now we’re busy strangers, <br />Our feelings we restrain— <br />The Spirit of North Sydney <br />Shall never come again!<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-north-sydney/
