O where has he gone, O where has he gone,
My love on whom the good sun shone?
With an ache on his mouth and a crack in his song
He’s gone to Sydney or Wollongong,
And he’ll never come back, and he’ll die alone.
Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone.
The wind blows up and the wind blows down
In the concrete alleys of Sydney town,
And the harbour swings at the end of the quay
And the streets are full of the smell of the sea.
And there I’ll bury him under the street,
Give his wild, sad eyes to the sea to keep.
I will walk in the streets of Sydney town,
Where the wind blows up and the wind blows down,
And the trains growl deep in the underground,
And the ghost of my love walks round and round,
Walks round and round in a dreadful dream
With a smile on his lips that is worse than a scream.
I passed my love on the street today,
He looked through my head and he looked away.
When I searched in the dust I could only find
A man with his lips and his eyes gone blind,
And all that we were, and all that we knew
Has gone with the wry, dry dust that blew.
But the magpie sings in the lilac tree
When I take a lover to bed with me,
And the sheets are cool and the blood is hot
And all that you were I have long forgot.
And the bird that swings in the lilac tree
Still swings and sings in the heart of me.
But where has he gone, O where has he gone?
— That golden boy to look upon.
He’s gone to Sydney or Wollongong
With an ache on his mouth and a crack in his song.
O driven the flesh and riven the bone,
I’ll never come back, and he’ll die alone.
© Dorothy Hewett