The sunsets fall and the sunsets fade,
But still I walk this shadowy land ;
And grapple the dark and only the dark
In my search for a loving hand.
For it’s here a still, deep woodland lies,
With spurs of pine and sheaves of fern ;
But I wander wild, and wail like a child
For a face that will never return !
And it’s here a mighty water flows,
With drifts of wind and wimpled waves ;
But the darling head of a dear one dead
Is hidden beneath its caves.
Henry Kendall, Poems and Songs, J. R. Clarke, Sydney, 1862, page 55