A thousand fancies come and go,
White lilies mid the rushes grow,
Clear voices ring across the snow,
Or seas sob in their ebb and flow,
When you sing.
Blue mountains rear their crests on high,
Kings sit alone 'midst revelry,
Palms pierce the forest to the sky,
Processions, torch-lit, pass me by,
When you sing.
With throbbing heart I see again
A shore white lashed in winter rain,
The mist upon the window-pane,
And all the grief we grieved in vain,
When you sing.
I see a child in English lanes,
A harvest moon that slowly wanes,
Red cottage walls and churches' fanes,
And violet lights thro' window stains,
When you sing.
I see brave soldiers marching on,
A ship o'er gray horizons gone --
A woman on the shore alone,
Pale smiling lips, and hearts that moan,
When you sing.
Life's sordid cares of every day
Are overpowered and shut away;
All unrestrained the fancies play
From glad to sad, from sad to gay,
When you sing.
First published in The Queenslander, 28 April 1900
