Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.

87. Sung on a By-way

WHAT of all the will to do?

It has vanished long ago,

For a dream-shaft pierced it through

From the Unknown Archer’s bow.

What of all the soul to think?

Some one offered it a cup

Filled with a diviner drink,

And the flame has burned it up.

What of all the hope to climb?

Only in the self we grope

To the misty end of time:

Truth has put an end to hope.

What of all the heart to love?

Sadder than for will or soul,

No light lured it on above;

Love has found itself the whole.