By Wood And Wold

Poem By Adam Lindsay Gordon

Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows,
Though laden with faint perfume,
'Tis the fragrance rare that the bushman knows,
The scent of the wattle bloom.
Two-thirds of our journey at least are done,
Old horse ! let us take a spell
In the shade from the glare of the noon-day sun,
Thus far we have travell'd well ;
Your bridle I'll slip, your saddle ungirth,
And lay them beside this log,
For you'll roll in that track of reddish earth,
And shake like a water-dog.

Upon yonder rise there's a clump of trees—
Their shadows look cool and broad—
You can crop the grass as fast as you please,
While I stretch my limbs on the sward ;
'Tis pleasant, I ween, with a leafy screen
O'er the weary head, to lie
On the mossy carpet of emerald green,
'Neath the vault of the azure sky ;
Thus all alone by the wood and wold,
I yield myself once again
To the memories old that, like tales fresh told,
Come flitting across the brain.

Comments about By Wood And Wold

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

2,8 out of 5
11 total ratings

Other poems of GORDON

Borrow'D Plumes

[A Preface and a Piracy]

PROLOGUE

OF borrow’d plumes I take the sin,
My extracts will apply

An Exile's Farewell

The ocean heaves around us still
With long and measured swell,
The autumn gales our canvas fill,
Our ship rides smooth and well.

Doubtful Dreams

Aye, snows are rife in December,
And sheaves are in August yet,
And you would have me remember,
And I would rather forget ;

Deliah

[From a Picture]

The sun has gone down, spreading wide on
The sky-line one ray of red fire ;

Early Adieux

Adieu to kindred hearts and home,
To pleasure, joy, and mirth,
A fitter foot than mine to roam
Could scarcely tread the earth ;

De Te

A burning glass of burnish'd brass,
The calm sea caught the noontide rays,
And sunny slopes of golden grass
And wastes of weed-flower seem to blaze.