Inland by Mervyn O'Hara

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The curling smoke blown back from ships  
   That leave the misty land;  
And the long drawn kiss of the ocean's lips  
   On the brown neck of the sand.
The surf's thunder -- the salt smells,  
   And the skylines distant blue,  
And the long swing of the green swells --
   All those -- all those -- I knew!

All these were mine; but now I pass
   My days behind the sea,
Among hills, on plains that are rolling in grass.
   I hear like a murmurous bee
Singing, the sound of the fugitive creeks,
   That slip through the briar and the fern;
But a soft sighing when one speaks
   Is all that my heart can learn!
The bush it seems is half afraid
   To voice its secret thought;
It breathes still where I have stayed,
   Wherever I have sought;
But the stars at night bring glimpses and gleams
   Of the coastlands back to me,
And, instead of the dust of the straining teams,
   I can taste the spray of the sea.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 8 November 1924

Author: Nothing is known about the author of this poem.

Author reference site: Austlit

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 8, 2012 7:43 AM.

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