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All up the hillside the long grass is leaning,
Leaning while the wind blows like a lost soul keening,
Keening for the other dead that have lately died
And must wander sunless on the lone hillside.
 
All through the dark bush desolate and dreaming,
Dreaming of the sunlight, the wattle-trees are gleaming,
Gleaming like the thought of friends, warm with love and light,
Though the clouds are driving on the steps of night.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 3 March 1928.
 
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

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