An Old Bush Road

by Jennings Carmichael

Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken,
   Winding thro' the forest green,
Barred with shadow, weaved with sunshine,
   Misty vistas drawn between.
Grim, scarred bluegum ranged austerely,
   Lifting blackened columns each
To the large blue fields of azure,
   Stretching ever out of reach.

How the lofty boughs do sparkle
   In the lucid upward lights!
How the twinkling leaves go nodding
   In the wind-blown sunny heights.
How the huge tree lives this morning,
   In the glorious atmosphere!
Spite of fire-scorched bole and branches,
   Where no springtide flowers appear.

See the bracken growing under,
   Round the fallen limbs of trees,
And the sharp reeds from the marshes,
   Washed across the flooded leas.
And the olive rushes, leaning
   All their pointed spears to cast
Slender shadows on the roadway,
   While the faint, slow wind creeps past.

Ancient ruts grown in with grasses,
   Soft old hollows filled with rain;
Bough, gnarled roots all twisting queerly
   O'er the road and back again.
Lichens moist upon the fences,
   Twiners close against the logs;
Yellow fungus in the thickets,
   Vivid messes in the bogs.

Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken,
   What delights in thee I find!
Subtle charm and tender fancy,
   Like a fragrance in the mind.
Thy old ways have set me dreaming,
   And out-worn illusions rise.
As the pictures of the landscape
   Open on my thoughtful eyes.

Here I stayed one day for shelter,
   In the core of yon burnt tree;
How the summer rain came dancing
   In the branches over die!
How the birds sang to the music
   Of the rainfall on the ground;
I can hear again the laughter
   Of the jackasses around.

See the clump of wattles standing
   Dead and sapless on the rise;
When their boughs were full of beauty,
   Even to uncaring eyes,
I was ever first to rifle
   The soft branches of their store.
O the golden wealth of blossom
   I shall gather there no more!

Now we reach the dun morasses,
   Where the red moss used to grow,
Ruby-bright around the margins,
   Poised upon the weeds below.
There the swan and wild-duck floated
   In and out the sedges green,
And the booming bitterns nested,
   And the curlews grey were seen.

Climb this hill and we have rambled
   To the last turn of the way;
Here is where the bell-birds tinkled
   Fairy chimes for me all day.
These were bells that never wearied,
   Swung by ringers on the wing,
List! the elfin strains are waking,
   Mem'ry sets the bells a-ring.

Dear old road, no wonder, surely,
   That I love thee like a friend?
And I grieve to think how surely
   Thou wilt fail me in the end.
For thy loveliness is passing,
   The rude turmoil of the town
Threatens all thy sylvan-silence,
   Tears thy simple beauty down.

And for this I look more fondly
   On the wide lands to be seen
From the road, wheel-worn and broken,
   Winding thro' the forest green.
Something stall remains of Nature,
   Thoughts of other days to bring,—
For the staunch old trees are standing,
   And I hear the wild birds sing!