Explore "The Deserted Homestead" by Edward Dyson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Past a dull, grey plain where a world-old grief seems / to brood o'er the silent land, / When the orbéd moon turns her tense, white face on the / ominous waste of sand, / And the wind that steals by the dreamer feels like / the touch of a phantom hand,
Through the tall, still trees and the tangled scrub / that has sprung on the old bush track, / In a clearing wide, where a willow broods and the / cowering bush shrinks backs, / Stands a house alone that no dwellers own, yet un- / harmed by the storm's attack.