Adam Lindsay Gordon

In Collins-street standeth a statue tall

A statue tall on a pillar of stone,

Telling its story, to great and small,

Of the dust reclaimed from the sand waste lone.

Weary and wasted, and worn and wan,

Feeble and faint, and languid and low,

He lay on the desert a dying man,

Who has gone, my friends, where we all must go.