The Bush

A poem by James Lister Cuthbertson

Give us from dawn to dark
Blue of Australian skies,
Let there be none to mark
Whither our pathway lies.

Give us when noontide comes
Rest in the woodland free,
Fragrant breath of the gums,
Cold, sweet scent of the sea.

Give us the wattle’s gold
And the dew-laden air,
And the loveliness bold
Loneliest landscapes wear.

These are the haunts we love,
Glad with enchanted hours,
Bright as the heavens above,
Fresh as the wild bush flowers.