One crumb to bear through the lambent air
Was past the power of wings.
Beside his door he sat 'till noon
When a bullock-team came by;
The echoes 'round with the whips resound,
And the drivers' cheery cry.
Upon the dray a piece he threw
No bigger than your hand,
Of the cursed thing, 'twas enough to bring
The bullocks to a stand.