By Wood and Wold - Adam Lindsay Gordon

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.

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Adam Lindsay Gordon (1833 – 1870) Australia (born Portugal)

Source: The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse - Walter Murdoch, comp. Oxford University Press, 1918