The Deserted Camp
by Jules Raeside 1929
Deserted now- no more you stir’d
By those in quest of gold
Now you’re but a memory blurr’d
Of what you were of old
Yet though the camp of silence sleeps
Except for songs of birds
There’s language in your silent heaps
More eloquent than words.
You speak to me of other years-
Again the times unfold-
Of days when sturdy pioneers
won from thee wealth untold.
I see the shakers standing round,
I see the shovels there;
And diggers tracking in the ground
The gold dust to its lair.
I see the clouds of dust all round
I see the wash dirt flow
To tailing heaps upon the ground,
As in the long ago.
I live again those days of gold
When we the weight did chase,
And through the dust seem to behold
Some well-remembered face.
Again I hear the dishes ring,
Again down at the well;
Through murky air comes tink-a-ling-
A distant camel bell.
Again around the camp-fires glow
Those diggers can I see;
My comrades of the long ago
Who hoped and delved with me.
And though I seemed to see again
Scenes once familiar there,
Twas but a fancy, for all ’round
Deep silence fills the air.
Painting: Sidney Robert Nolan
Moya Sharp
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