By White Horse Tavern, White Horse Road
   In olden days wound down;
And many a waggon bore its load
And many a bullock felt the goad
   From town to country town.
Thro' Ringwood on, by hill and vale,
   Their patient way they went.
Until they came to Lilydale,
The olden town of Lilydale.
And teamsters paused at Lilydale,
   A place of calm content.


But days of bitumen and tar
   Have changed the ancient mode;
And now the speeding motor car,
Where traffic-cops and bowsers are,
   Go down the White Horse Road,
Upon a smooth, broad way they sail,
   Till, sudden, up and down,
The bumps begin at Lilydale,
The rocky road to Lilydale,
The holey road to Lilydale,
   A very peaceful town.


Beyond the town, the bumps are past,
   And vexed springs settle down;
But many an angry look is cast
And many a curse speeds backwards fast
   Toward that backward town.
On to the foothills leads the trail
   By smooth and pleasant ways,
But, oh, that stretch thro' Lilydale!
The sleepy town of Lilydale,
Where folk still think, in Lilydale,
   In terms of bullock drays.

"Den"
Herald, 25 November 1931, p6

Note:
This was number 1 in the Country Roads series.
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