Tumut by Will M. Fleming

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Athwart fair fields long shadows fall;  
Slow magpies croon their homing call;  
   The purple hills
Beneath an opalescent sky
Like dreams of peace quiescent lie;
   High mountain-rills
Are here become sweet, gentle streams,
Where, silvered o'er, the sunset gleams.

Slim, silent poplars, spires of gold,
In regal calm their beauty hold
   Beneath the blue
That, darkening to the touch on night,
Shows dusted points of distant light
   Just twinkling through
Like fairies peeping down to see
How perfect haunts of man may be.

As incense rising softly there
The hearthside smoke ascends the air
   And clings above;
Close-gathered by the eventide
Sweet peace and happiness abide
   In tender love.
For beauty here lies in repose   
As fragrance clings around an rose.      

First published
in The Sydney Morning Herald, 30 June 1928

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on June 30, 2012 8:55 AM.

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