The Sacrifice of Ball's Head
Henry Lawson, 1916
They're taking it, the shipping push,
As all the rest must go
The only spot of cliff and bush
That harbour people know.
The spirit of the past is dead
North Sydney has no soul
The State is cutting down Ball's Head.
To make a wharf for coal.
Where picnic parties used to go
To spend a glorious day,
With all the scenery of a coast
And not a cent to pay.
The deep cool tangle shall be cleared
To make the glaring roads
And motor lorries jolt and grind
And drag their sordid loads.
And strings of grimy trucks shall run
In everlasting trains
And on the cliffs where wild trees are
Shall stand the soulless cranes,
To dump their grimy loads below,
Where great brown rocks are grand;
And the deep grass and wild flowers grow
And boating couples land.
No more shall poorer families
Give "Grandma" and "Grandad"
A glimpse of nature's mysteries
To make their old hearts glad.
No more our eyes shall be relieved
In the city's garish day
A sordid crime has been achieved!
And none has aught to say.