Page:Where the Dead Men Lie.djvu/62

40 The Tree had watched the station grow— The buildings rising row on row; And from that point of vantage green, Peering athwart its leafy screen, The wondering soldier-birds had seen The lumbering bullock-dray draw near, Led by that swarthy pioneer Who, gazing at the pleasant shade, Was tempted, dropped his whip and stayed; Brought there his wanderings to a close; Unloosed the polished yokes and bows.

The bullocks, thankful for the boon, Rang on their bells a merry tune: The hobbles clinked; the horses grazed; The snowy calico was raised; The fire was lit; the fragrant tea Drunk to a sunset melody Tuned by the day before it died To waken on Earth's other side. There 'twas, beneath that Box-Tree's shade, Fortune's foundation-stone was laid; Cemented fast with toil and thrift, Stone upon stone was laid to lift A mighty arch, commemorate Of one who reached the goal too late. That white-haired pioneer with pride Fitted the keystone; then he died: His toil, his thrift, all to what boot? He gave his life for Dead Sea fruit: