Bushland

Not sweeter to the storm-tossed mariner Is glimpse of home where wife and children wait To welcome him with kisses at the gate Than to the town-worn man the, breezy stir Of mountain winds on rugged pathless heights: His long-spent soul drinks in the deep delights That Nature hath in store. The sun-kissed bay Gleams thro' the grand old gnarled gum tree boughs Like burnished brass; the strong-winged bird of prey Sweeps by, upon this lonely vengeful way — While over all, like breath of holy vows, The sweat airs blow, and the high-valuted sky Looks down in pity this fair Summer day On all poor earth-born creatures doomed to die.