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SPRING ON THE PLAINS
SPRING ON THE PLAINS
Spring has come to the plains,
And, following close behind,
Green of the welcome rains,
And spice of the first warm wind;
Beating of wings on high,
For, overhead in the blue,
Southward the brolgas fly,
The cranes and pelicans too,
Ibis, and proud black swan—
And quivering cries float clear,
After the birds are gone,
Still lingering in the ear.
Everywhere we pass
The horses tread soft and deep;
Clover and young green grass—
Hark to the grazing sheep,
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