Bush Verses

Wanderlust

I love to roam the wild wild spaces, by rippling river, or lone oasis;

Through desert sands or snows on the places, among the far and free.

My fancy wings with the winging swallow, my footsteps wander by peak and hollow;

Some impulse strong that I must follow, and ever is calling me.

That bids me awake to the magpie's singing, to the thunder of brumbies' hoof-beats ringing;

To vagrant breezes from hill-sides bringing a glorious wealth of song.

To feel the senses with life's wine filling, that lute-like set the heart-strings thrilling,

To share the joys in the bush-birds trilling, that solely to them belong.

The Gipsy blood from primeval stages, that coursed in veins of old-world sages;

Comes down through the long-forgotten ages, and tingles again in mine.

That lends a charm that is most enthralling, to sun-beams dancing when rain is falling;

To the river song forever calling, that leads me through shade and shine.

E'er so at eve when the day has ended, when sweets of blossom and bough are blended;

When storm-tossed swallows have homeward wended, and night veils the land and sea.

Some mystic lure from the far off distance, some magic spell that brooks no resistance;

Some better part of my soul's existence, is ever calling me.

By Wm Jas Wye

site map | copyright