QUEENSLAND WOODS
137
Bush-fires have scorched the silver bark and sent
A long wild shuddering horror through the green.
The brown surveyor's axe has cut a shield-
The curling bark makes haste to heal again-
Small ficus plants have climbed, with emerald coins.
Plastering a grizzled trunk, and flowering vines
Have decked the grimmest boles to carnival.
On moonlit nights the hamadryads come,
Their bodies white as milk, their tresses red
As autumn leaves in older lands than ours;
And gum-tree goblins, and a thousand elves
Of earth and star make merry in the trees.
And the trees listen, weaving in their grain
This tale of fleeting moons and lingering dawns,
And roseate feathers of sunsetting, wreathed
About the brim of low, mist-ribboned hills.
A long wild shuddering horror through the green.
The brown surveyor's axe has cut a shield-
The curling bark makes haste to heal again-
Small ficus plants have climbed, with emerald coins.
Plastering a grizzled trunk, and flowering vines
Have decked the grimmest boles to carnival.
On moonlit nights the hamadryads come,
Their bodies white as milk, their tresses red
As autumn leaves in older lands than ours;
And gum-tree goblins, and a thousand elves
Of earth and star make merry in the trees.
And the trees listen, weaving in their grain
This tale of fleeting moons and lingering dawns,
And roseate feathers of sunsetting, wreathed
About the brim of low, mist-ribboned hills.
The plainest unscrubbed board a kitchen holds,
If you could heed, may have a tale of kings!
And when you hear it creaking in the night,
Who knows but that it is remembering
The way the wind came leaping from the sea
To find a frolic welcome in the bough!
If you could heed, may have a tale of kings!
And when you hear it creaking in the night,
Who knows but that it is remembering
The way the wind came leaping from the sea
To find a frolic welcome in the bough!