Dargo
Dargo is a dark-haired lass
Prone to independent ways;
Few men know her, fewer pass,
Where her pleasant river plays
But the smile in her blue eye
Promises a wealth of cheer
For the tired passer-by
Who would seek him respite here.
Long forgot, the days of gold
When the miners, crowding down,
Stirred a turbulence of old
Round about her pleasant town.
Now the quiet cattle-men.
Riding in from her high plains
Seek her portals now and then
With a tale of worthier gains.
Riding up Insolvent Track,
In the days before its change
Many a digger came not back
From that grim, forbidding range:
Came not ever back to tell
Olden tales of loss or gain
Where Maroka's waters swell
Many a stream that seeks the plain.
Still the dark-haired Dargo thrives
'Mid her lands of range and rock,
While blood horses bear men's lives
In and out amongst the stock.
And beside her pleasant streams.
Willow hung, that wind about,
Here the blue-eyed maiden dreams
As she marks the leaping trout.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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