The Empty Glass by Henry Lawson — Read

There are three lank bards in a borrowed room -- / Ah! The number is one too few -- / They have deemed their home and the bars unfit / For the thing that they have to do. / Three glasses they fill with the Land's own wine, / And the bread of life they pass. / Their glasses they take, which they slowly raise -- / And they drink to an empty glass.

(There's a greater glare in the street to-night, / And a louder rush and roar, / There's a mad crowd yelling the winner's name, / And howling the cricket score: / Oh! The bright moonlight on the angels white, / And the tombs and the monuments grand -- / And down by the water at Waverley / There's a little lone mound of sand.)