They come again to haunt me when the sun is sinking low --
The idle dreams, the careless dreams, the dreams of long ago.
Thro' the wattle's feathered, fretted boughs the reddened sunlight gleams.
In the stillness and the quiet 'tis a fitting hour for dreams.
Far away from care and sorrow -- far away from toil and strife --
Wasted chances, hours of folly, and the failure of a life.
All the blackness lies behind me and the brightness lies before,
I have done with Sin and Care (for just an hour, perhaps, or more).
Dreams of day-time -- dreams of May-time -- dreams of light and laughing hours,
With the odor of the gum-leaves and the fragrance of the flowers.
As they come again to haunt me when the sun is dropping low,
The idle dreams, the careless dreams, the dreams of long ago.
First published in The Bulletin, 28 March 1903
