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  ― 36 ―

Song

OH, someone plucked wattle high up on the hill,
And sarsaparilla by Koonemah's knee,
From lilting green uplands where brown thrushes trill,
Someone brought wattle to me!

Someone brought wattle that sprang by the way,
Like a mystical flame from a magical tree,
From a temple of winds where the blown brackens sway,
Someone brought wattle to me!

Ere Night her shy legions of dream had withdrawn,
And moon-jewels trembled their soft gramarye,
From peaks of the peris all dappled with dawn,
Someone brought wattle to me!

Oh, someone wove wattle with pink and white thorn,
(Up, up from the heather a song floated free),
From paths of the pixies all mantled with morn,
Someone brought wattle to me!

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