An Old Bush Road

Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken, Winding thro' the forest green, Barred with shadow, weaved with sunshine, Misty vistas drawn between. Grim, scarred bluegum ranged austerely, Lifting blackened columns each To the large blue fields of azure, Stretching ever out of reach.

How the lofty boughs do sparkle In the lucid upward lights! How the twinkling leaves go nodding In the wind-blown sunny heights. How the huge tree lives this morning, In the glorious atmosphere! Spite of fire-scorched bole and branches, Where no springtide flowers appear.

See the bracken growing under, Round the fallen limbs of trees, And the sharp reeds from the marshes, Washed across the flooded leas. And the olive rushes, leaning All their pointed spears to cast Slender shadows on the roadway, While the faint, slow wind creeps past.

Ancient ruts grown in with grasses, Soft old hollows filled with rain; Bough, gnarled roots all twisting queerly O'er the road and back again. Lichens moist upon the fences, Twiners close against the logs; Yellow fungus in the thickets, Vivid messes in the bogs.

Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken, What delights in thee I find! Subtle charm and tender fancy, Like a fragrance in the mind. Thy old ways have set me dreaming, And out-worn illusions rise. As the pictures of the landscape Open on my thoughtful eyes.

Here I stayed one day for shelter, In the core of yon burnt tree; How the summer rain came dancing In the branches over die! How the birds sang to the music Of the rainfall on the ground; I can hear again the laughter Of the jackasses around.

See the clump of wattles standing Dead and sapless on the rise; When their boughs were full of beauty, Even to uncaring eyes, I was ever first to rifle The soft branches of their store. O the golden wealth of blossom I shall gather there no more!

Now we reach the dun morasses, Where the red moss used to grow, Ruby-bright around the margins, Poised upon the weeds below. There the swan and wild-duck floated In and out the sedges green, And the booming bitterns nested, And the curlews grey were seen.

Climb this hill and we have rambled To the last turn of the way; Here is where the bell-birds tinkled Fairy chimes for me all day. These were bells that never wearied, Swung by ringers on the wing, List! the elfin strains are waking, Mem'ry sets the bells a-ring.

Dear old road, no wonder, surely, That I love thee like a friend? And I grieve to think how surely Thou wilt fail me in the end. For thy loveliness is passing, The rude turmoil of the town Threatens all thy sylvan-silence, Tears thy simple beauty down.

And for this I look more fondly On the wide lands to be seen From the road, wheel-worn and broken, Winding thro' the forest green. Something stall remains of Nature, Thoughts of other days to bring,— For the staunch old trees are standing, And I hear the wild birds sing!