Vonda Stanley's collection of early Australian bush poems


Tell Summer that I Died


When he was old and thin

And knew not night or day

He would sit up to say

Something of the fire within.

How woefully his chin

Moved so slowly as he tried

Some lusty word to say:

Tell Summer that I died.


When gladness sweeps the land,

And to the white sky
Cool butterflies go by,

And sheep in shadow stand;
When Love, the old command,

Turns every hate aside,

In the unstinted days

Tell Summer that I died.



Shaw Neilson  b.1872

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