Bushland

Not sweeter to the storm-tossed marinerIs glimpse of home where wife and children waitTo welcome him with kisses at the gateThan to the town-worn man the, breezy stirOf mountain winds on rugged pathless heights:His long-spent soul drinks in the deep delightsThat Nature hath in store. The sun-kissed bayGleams thro' the grand old gnarled gum tree boughsLike burnished brass; the strong-winged bird of preySweeps by, upon this lonely vengeful way —While over all, like breath of holy vows,The sweat airs blow, and the high-valuted skyLooks down in pity this fair Summer dayOn all poor earth-born creatures doomed to die.