The Whispering Currajong by Kathleen Dalziel

| No TrackBacks
Come back to the ridge and the river, 
   And the ways where you belong, 
To the plains and the swamps for ever 
   Says the whispering currajong.

In the sun-washed garden ingles, 
   Where the sunflowers nod and sway, 
Is a whispering, voice that mingles 
   With memory's tones alway. 
Come back, come back to the tussock plain, 
   And the Ware where you belong --
Over again and over again, 
   Says the whispering currajong. 

Come back to the swamps and the reaches 
   Where the garb of the green months smiles: 
Come back where the hot haze bleaches 
   Down the long, long mallee miles. 
To the crash and the mighty chorus 
   Of the storm in the tree-tops strong 
To the June gales hammering o'er us, 
   Says the whispering currajong. 

When the clouds roll up in thunder, 
   Or the frost wind whips from the south 
Where the earth lies fainting under 
   The long sick swoon of the drouth, 
All of the red Decembers. 
   And the fair month's blossomry, 
The whispering tree remembers, 
   And never will let me be. 

Whispering there in the quiet 
   Of the sultry summer noon, 
Where the loose-leaved roses riot 
   And the grey doves coo and croon. 
Though never a slow wind passes 
   To the lilt of a cricket's song, 
Telling its tale to the grasses, 
   Stands the whispering currajong. 

When the north wind leaps and rages 
   Hot breathed and red leagues wide, 
And scatters like torn-out pages 
   The leaves of the countryside, 
Low in the lull of the onset, 
   Loud when the strife is long, 
And dying away with the sunset 
   Croons the whispering currajong. 

Come back, come hack to the old days... 
   So long hove the troubled years 
Hidden the way with mist-wreaths grey 
   And covered the track with tears. 
And I would if I could, but, oh, how vain 
   And useless for long and long 
Is the voice of the past and the pleading pair 
   Of the whispering currajong! 

When the heat waves shimmer and quiver 
  When the winter nights are long --
Come back to the ridge and the river, 
   Says the whispering currajong.

First published in The Bulletin, 11 September 1929

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL:

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on September 11, 2014 7:37 AM.

Patience by Mabel Forrest was the previous entry in this blog.

The Builder by Zora Cross is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.


Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en