Moorangoo, the dove, in her high place mourned, And Mulloka, the Water Spirit, turned In his shade as he heard her weep, Sad as the lone that cries i… - Mary Gilmore

Emptied of us the land, Ghostly our going,
Fallen, like spears the hand Dropped in the throwing.We are the lost who went, Like the cranes, crying;
Hunted, lonely, and spent, Broken and dying.

I never knew how wide the dark,
I never knew the depth of space,
I never knew how frail a bark,
How small is man within his place,Not till I heard the swans go by,
Not till I marked their haunting cry,
Not till, within the vague on high,
I watched them pass across the sky. ...

"I'm old
Botany Bay;
Stiff in the joints,
Little to say.I am he
Who paved the way,
That you might walk
At your ease to-day;
[...]
I split the rock;
I felled the tree:
The nation was —
Because of me!"Old Taking the sun
From day to day. ...
Shame on the mouth
That would deny
The knotted hands
That set us high!