The curling smoke blown back from ships
That leave the misty land;
And the long drawn kiss of the ocean's lips
On the brown neck of the sand.
The surf's thunder -- the salt smells,
And the skylines distant blue,
And the long swing of the green swells --
All those -- all those -- I knew!
All these were mine; but now I pass
My days behind the sea,
Among hills, on plains that are rolling in grass.
I hear like a murmurous bee
Singing, the sound of the fugitive creeks,
That slip through the briar and the fern;
But a soft sighing when one speaks
Is all that my heart can learn!
The bush it seems is half afraid
To voice its secret thought;
It breathes still where I have stayed,
Wherever I have sought;
But the stars at night bring glimpses and gleams
Of the coastlands back to me,
And, instead of the dust of the straining teams,
I can taste the spray of the sea.
First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 8 November 1924
Author: Nothing is known about the author of this poem.
Author reference site: Austlit
