The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Night on the Plains

by Dorothea Mackellar

NIGHT ON THE PLAINS

Out on the plain-land at night
   There is no sound, not a sigh,
And nothing is moving now
   But scornful stars in the sky:

The night is too great for my heart,
   It flutters and halts and trips;
The terrible mirth of the stars
   Has slain my song on my lips.

Australia.