We drove across a spring-clad land,
A band of devotees,
And marvelled at the shading of
The soft green in the trees.
He sat apart and smoked his pipe
In gloomy reverie,
And growled that "in the bloomin' bush
There's nothin' much to see."
We raved about the fleecy clouds,
And felt ecstatic thrills,
What time we viewed the colour in
The opalescent hills.
We pointed out the waving scrub;
He grumbled low and deep:
"The hills are bloomin' barren, and
The scrub won't carry sheep."
At length we reached the wayside inn
And respite sought inside;
'Twas then his eloquence burst forth,
And would not be denied.
With flashing eye and soul aflame,
He praised in accents clear
The transcendental beauty of
The amber in his beer.
First published in The Gadfly, 15 May 1907
Author reference sites: C.J. Dennis, Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
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