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THE OLD PLACE
An’ the glossy karakas[1] there, twinkling to the big blue twinkling sea:
Ay, the broad blue sea beyond, an’ the gem-clear cove below,
Where the boat I’ll never handle again, sits rocking to and fro:
There’s the last look to it all! an’ now for the last upon
This room, where Hetty was born, an’ my Mary died, an’ John . . .
Well! I’m leaving the poor old place, and it cuts as keen as a knife;
The place that’s broken my heart—the place where I’ve lived my life.
- ↑ Karaka, a Bush tree, with a shining dark green foliage.
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