Page:Backblock Ballads and Later Verses (C.J. Dennis, 1918).djvu/84

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Where the mountain ash is waving by the giant messmate tree— 'Spite the toiling, 'spite the slaving—that's the place where I would be.

I can mock your traffic's roaring when the winds sweep through the forest; When the stars shine o'er the tree-tops I can scorn your glaring lights. You may keep your slum and alley— When the sun sets in the valley There's a scene I wouldn't barter for a wealth of city sights.

Tell me not of fame and fortune won through striving with your fellows, Power of purse, and pride in scheming: these are things that I despise. Give me health and strength to labour; Give me peace and love of neighbour; Give me joys that strong men cherish where the timber ranges rise.

When the bushland dawn comes creeping, and the tree trunks catch the sun; When the forest wakes from sleeping, and the day-long toil's begun,