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  ― 103 ―

A Riding Song

I AM dreaming to-night of a dark river eddying
Foam-belled and deep to his rapids below,
And the bay colt is reefing, the brown horse is steadying,
Under the wattles at Lindenow.

Veiled as a mystical bride is the cherry-tree,
Snow-steeds have broken from winter's bleak hold,
And pale wattle-censers have wafted their witchery,
Flooding the welkin with fairy gold.

We are riding again down a radiant yesterday
(Heart o' the rose and a hawk on the wing)
Hoofs a-ring under us, bloom in the wind a-sway,
Into the magical heart of spring.

And Brownlock and Bill and the bay from Monaro side,
And old Snowy River, all dead long, I trow,
Are game as of old; and we ride where we used to ride,
Under the wattles at Lindenow.

Those were the days it was joy to be biding in,
Moonlight and noonlight and shimmer of rain,
O for a noon of lost noons to be riding in,
Hope in the heart and a loose-flung rein!

Green pipers blew for us, fairy bells rang for us,
Year at the springtime, and youth at the flow,
Wine of the wattle-wind, all the world sang to us,
All the world loved us and told us so.

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