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By Wood and Wold

by Adam Lindsay Gordon (1833 - 1870)

Australian writer

Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows,
Though laden with faint perfume;
’Tis the fragrance rare that the bushman knows,
  The scent of the wattle bloom.

Two-thirds of our journey at least are done,
  Old horse! let us take a spell
In the shade from the glare of the noonday sun,
  Thus far we have travelled well;

Your bridle I’ll slip, your saddle ungirth,
  And lay them beside this log,
For you’ll roll in that track of reddish earth,
  And shake like a water-dog.

Upon yonder rise there’s a clump of trees –
  Their shadows look cool and broad –
You can crop the grass as fast as you please,
  While I stretch my limbs on the sward;

’Tis pleasant, I ween, with a leafy screen
  O’er the weary head, to lie
On the mossy carpet of emerald green,
  ’Neath the vault of the azure sky;

Thus all alone by the wood and wold,
  I yield myself once again
To the memories old that, like tales fresh told,
  Come flitting across the brain.

About the Author

See our page on Adam Lindsay Gordon. Includes a linked list of all his writing available on our website.

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