Three roads there are that climb and wind
Amongst the hills, and leave behind
The patterned orchards, sloping down
To meet a little country town.
And of these roads I’ll take the one
That tops the ridges, where the sun
Is tempered by the mountain-breeze
And dancing shadows of the trees.
The road is rough – but to my feet
Softer than is the city street;
And then the trees! – how beautiful
She-oak and gum – how fresh and cool!
No walls there are to hamper me;
Only in blue infinity
The distant mountain-ramparts rise
Beneath the broad arch of the skies.
And in that high place I shall hear
The wild birds’ singing, soft and clear;
And horse-bells tinkling as of old
In amongst the wattles’ gold
Far-off is the ocean tide;
But there across the country-side
Roll waves of bush that rise and fall
To break against the mountain-wall.
And every little farm is seen
An island in a sea of green;
And every little farm at night
Flings through the dark its beacon-light –
There in the silence of the hills,
I shall find peace that soothes and stills
The throbbing of the weary brain, –
For I am going home again.
(Dora Wilcox)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Mind Poems, Nature Poems, Silence Poems, Cities Poems, Brain Poems, Countries Poems, Singing PoemsBased on Keywords: wattles, patterned, country-side, beacon-light, hamper, she-oak, horse-bells, mountain-wall, mountain-breeze