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On the Paroo

Edward S. Sorenson

I’ve known the joy of a roaming boy
    In her flowers and her starry sheen;
And I’ve seen men die ‘neath her brazen sky
    When only the trees were green.

I’ve tramped with sheep when the sands were deep
    On the roads and the crossings, too,
And the shimmering haze was a dazzling blaze
    Out on the lone Paroo.

I’ve ridden wide on the western side,
    Far over the slumbering hills,
While cattle browsed on the trails and drowsed
    In the withering wind that kills.

I’ve swum the vales in the lashing gales,
    With the waters swirling through;
And thirsted there when the vales were bare
    Out on the lone Paroo.

And yet am I fain to turn again,
    As others have turned before,
At the siren’s call through the hazy pall,
    To rove in her realms once more.

Though I wander far, with no let or bar,
    Beneath leaden skies or blue,
My spirit dwells in the sunny dells
    Out on the lone Paroo.

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