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Of my accacia trees,
And pour your music out upon
The perfume-laden breeze.
Come, songsters of the wood,
And put my heart in tune
To the flowers and the sun
Of this happy land of June.
Cry out, O brave, bright birds
That soar, and swoop and swing
Above the sapphire sea
In a wild wassailing;
Drop down and flick the foam,
As the arrow flies when sped;
Laugh at your startled prey;
And scream to your mates o'erhead;
Be drunken with the joy
Of the sparkling air and brine,
With the glory of the day,
Its shadows and its shine;
With the color and the warmth
Of this June-land by the sea,
That you whirl above in play,
And you scream unto in glee.
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