BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



The chaunt of the marsh frog in rushes, 

 That chimes through the pauses and hushes 

 Of nightfall, the torrent that gushes, 

 The tempests that rave. 



In the deep'ning of dawn, when it dapples 



The dusk of the sky, 

 With streaks like the redd'ning of apples. 



The ripening of rye. 

 To eastward, when cluster by cluster, 

 Dim stars and dull planets, that muster, 

 Wax wan in a world of white lustre 



That spreads far and high. 



In the gathering of night gloom o'erhead, in 



The still silent change. 

 All fire-flush'd when forest trees redden 



On slopes of the range. 

 When the gnarl'd, knotted trunks Eucalyptian 

 Seem carved, like weird columns Egyptian, 

 With curious device — quaint inscription, 



And hieroglyph strange. 



In the Spring, when the wattle gold trembles 



'Twixt shadow and shine, 

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