by Mary Gilmore (1865-1962)
Into a hole into the ground he went,
Into a hole and the darkness before him;
Into the hole he went, and the dark
About him; into the hole he went
And the dark behind him.
No light of moon or sun
Was with him there;
Then with a rock earth closed him in.
Forever he sleeps, save that
Sometimes in dreams he turns.
Then the mountains are shaken.
About the Author
See our page on Mary Gilmore. Includes a linked list of all her writing available on our website.