Old Stone Chimney by Henry Lawson — Read

The rising moon on the peaks was blending / Her silver light with the sunset glow, / When a swagman came as the day was ending / Along a path that he seemed to know. / But all the fences were gone or going -- / The hand of ruin was everywhere; / The creek unchecked in its course was flowing, / For none of the old clay dam was there.

Here Time had been with his swiftest changes, / And husbandry had westward flown; / The cattle tracks in the rugged ranges / Were long ago with the scrub o'ergrown. / It must have needed long years to soften / The road, that as hard as rock had been; / The mountain path he had trod so often / Lay hidden now with a carpet green.