Prediction Poetry
At The River Crossing
By Harry 'Breaker' Morant
1898
Oh! the quiet river-crossing
Where we twain were wont to ride,
Where the wanton winds were to sing
Willow branches o'er the tide.
There the golden noon would find us
Dallying through the summer day,
All the weary world behind us -
All it's tumult far away.
Oh! those rides across the crossing
Where the shallow stream runs wide,
When the sunset's beams were glossing
Strips of sand on either side.
We would cross the sparkling river
On the brown horse and the bay;
Watch the willows sway and shiver
And their trembling shadows play.
When the opal tints waxed duller
And a grey crept o'er the skies
Yet there stayed the blue sky's colour
In your dreamy dark-blue eyes.
How the sun-god's bright caresses,
When we rode at sunset there,
Plaited among your braided tresses,
Gleaming on your silky hair.
When the last sunlight's glory
Faded off the sandy bars,
There we learnt the old, old story,
Riding homeward 'neat the stars.
'Tis a memory to be hoarded -
Oh, the foolish tale and fond!
Till another stream be forded -
And we reach the Great Beyond.
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