Seared and unvarnished
The plane branches swing,
Summer has tarnished
The tinsel of spring;
Flaying the brittle,
And spoiling the bright,
Chasing the little
Winged seeds out of sight.
But, among shouldering
Silvers and greys,
The redgum is smouldering,
Ready to blaze.
Splendid and forthright,
The conquering one,
Here is his birthright,
The lodestar, the sun.
Careless of cruel
Winds avid to scorch,
The beautiful fuel
But waits for the torch.
Then, bright in that alien
Tame company
Burns the Australian
Bonfire tree.
Up runs the scarlet --
The mad flowering,
No sober varlet
Is he, but a king.
Colors flung higher
His crowning proclaim
With bugles of fire,
And trumpets of flame.
Honey-flies gather
On every crest;
Even still weather
Will not let them rest,
But, trembling and stirring
Without any breeze,
They are rocked by the purring
Of passionate bees.
While every blue
Summer day that goes by
Crowns him anew
In the courts of the sky.
First published in The Bulletin, 11 May 1949
