A Ballade of Wattle Blossom

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There's a land that is happy and fair,
         Set gem-like in halcyon seas;
The white winters visit not there,
         To sadden its blossoming leas,
         More bland than the Hesperides,
Or any warm isle of the West,
         Where the wattle-bloom perfumes the breeze,
And the bell-bird builds her nest.

When the oak and the elm are bare,
         And wild winds vex the shuddering trees;
There the clematis whitens the air,
         And the husbandman laughs as he sees
         The grass rippling green to his knees,
And his vineyards in emerald drest --
         Where the wattle-bloom bends in the breeze,
And the bell-bird builds her nest.

What land is with this to compare?
         Not the green hills of Hybla, with bees
Honey-sweet, are more radiant and rare
         In colour and fragrance than these
         Boon shores, where the storm-clouds cease,
And the wind and the wave are at rest --
         Where the wattle-bloom waves in the breeze,
And the bell-bird builds her nest.

Envoy.

Sweetheart, let them praise as they please
         Other lands, but we know which is best --
Where the wattle-bloom perfumes the breeze,
         And the bell-bird builds her nest.

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