Green parrots, with orange beaks
In a tree of orange and green,
And under the tree the gleaming grass,
Where waves of light on the shadow pass,
And a lily sways between.
Green parrots climbing in blossomy boughs,
With a cheery call and a friendly wing,
A flash of blue and a splash of rose,
And the sound of myriad bees that flows
Through the monotone of spring.
Pale on the sky the harebell hills
And the city, blue and blurred,
A quivering hedge where the wind has been
On a garden's green, the feathery green
Of a honey-seeding bird.
How many miles did you trail your fancy?
(Orange beak in an orange cup)
With a flirt of tail and the sudden fling
Of the blue and rose of the under-wing
As you drink the summer up.
What distant hollow with faint stars lit
In pearly greyness of dawning dew
Saw your waking glances farewell the night,
Knew the driving dart of your early flight
As to scented stores you flew?
I am glad, at least, that you chose this tree,
That the gold-stained blossoms that front the East
Were filled by the gods with mead for you,
That the path of the sky was bright and blue,
And my garden spread the feast!
First published in The Sydney Mail, 26 December 1928
