When the sky was the softest shade of grays,
Save eastward --- where glowered one fire-edged cloud --
I watched in the dawning the brown hills raise
Their wood-clad crests from a misty shroud;
And I waiting stood
At the skirt of the wood,
Where the river has wound through its waste of sand,
And its broad tide slips
By the thirsty tips
Of the willow-trees fringing Fairyland!
And You came! -- as the morning sunbeams came --
And the whole of this fair world waxed more bright;
Whilst the sunlight shone upon fields aflame,
Till the valley was flooded with yellow light.
We dallied that day
Till the skies grew gray,
And the gloaming yielded to dusky night;
For the short hours fled
With a hasty tread,
As though Night were jealous of Day's delight.
Years come, and go! but they cannot efface
What are memories now --- of Fairyland!
Your innocent eyes and your girlish grace
And the soft, warm clasp of your little hand.
Now I stand alone
Where the sunlight's thrown
On the willow boughs, ere the day is done --
When their drooping fringe
Just borrows a tinge
Of fiery light from the fading sun.
And a quiet broods o'er the rugged hill,
And the birds which sang in the morn are dumb;
Whilst here by the willows I wait until
That other -- and longer --- night shall come.
There's a faint, faint plash
And a silvery flash
Where the waters swirl round the willow stems,
And the darkling sky
Unrolls on high
Its banner spangled with starry gems.
First published in The Bulletin, 3 September 1898;
and later in
Bushman and Buccaneer: Harry Morant : His 'Ventures and Verses edited by Frank Renar, 1902; and
The Poetry of 'Breaker' Morant: from "The Bulletin" 1891-1903 with original illustrations by Breaker Morant, 1980.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
Save eastward --- where glowered one fire-edged cloud --
I watched in the dawning the brown hills raise
Their wood-clad crests from a misty shroud;
And I waiting stood
At the skirt of the wood,
Where the river has wound through its waste of sand,
And its broad tide slips
By the thirsty tips
Of the willow-trees fringing Fairyland!
And You came! -- as the morning sunbeams came --
And the whole of this fair world waxed more bright;
Whilst the sunlight shone upon fields aflame,
Till the valley was flooded with yellow light.
We dallied that day
Till the skies grew gray,
And the gloaming yielded to dusky night;
For the short hours fled
With a hasty tread,
As though Night were jealous of Day's delight.
Years come, and go! but they cannot efface
What are memories now --- of Fairyland!
Your innocent eyes and your girlish grace
And the soft, warm clasp of your little hand.
Now I stand alone
Where the sunlight's thrown
On the willow boughs, ere the day is done --
When their drooping fringe
Just borrows a tinge
Of fiery light from the fading sun.
And a quiet broods o'er the rugged hill,
And the birds which sang in the morn are dumb;
Whilst here by the willows I wait until
That other -- and longer --- night shall come.
There's a faint, faint plash
And a silvery flash
Where the waters swirl round the willow stems,
And the darkling sky
Unrolls on high
Its banner spangled with starry gems.
First published in The Bulletin, 3 September 1898;
and later in
Bushman and Buccaneer: Harry Morant : His 'Ventures and Verses edited by Frank Renar, 1902; and
The Poetry of 'Breaker' Morant: from "The Bulletin" 1891-1903 with original illustrations by Breaker Morant, 1980.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
