Not upon the crowded beaches
   Where the sun beats fierce and hot;
Not upon the river reaches
   In a shady silvan spot;
But in some deep mountain valley,
   'Mid the sassafras and fern,
Here's the place where I would dally
   When the suns of Summer burn.

Here the sifted sunlight dappling
   Carpets with translucent green,
Flecks and flirts on fern and sapling,
   Where the cold stream peeps between.
"Here," you muse, "since time's beginning,
   Foot of man has never known;
Mine the joy first to be winning
   All this beauty for my own."

"Here," you muse, "is safe seclusion
   Known alone to bee and bird,
From the rude unsought intrusion
   Of the common human herd." . . .
Then a lipstick grossly gleaming,
   And a half-smoked fag you see;
And you waken from your dreaming
   As a shrill voice yells "Coo-ee!"

"Den"
Herald, 9 January 1932, p8

This poem was also published in the collection:
More than a Sentimental Bloke.