If we could find the top of a hill
From which, miles off one sees the sea,
A bald-topped mountain, very still,
The bushes girded to its knee;
And yet, clean, blue, and everywhere
The sunny miles of smokeless air!
If we could find a path that went
Between the bushes on the grade,
Hot grasses whispering their content
With only drifting cloud for shade;
Where one pale gleam on distant downs
Remained the only hint of towns.
If we could find an April day
The birds had roused from starry sleep,
A flight of butterflies that sway
Like wind-blown petals up the steep --
Alone ... with only hills and sky,
We might touch God as he went by!
First published in The Australasian, 17 July 1920
