Storm at Bulba
The winds are a'blowing, and waves leaping high,
And dripping and gloomy the lowering sky.
Gum trees are trembling, yet sturdy the oaks
Whilst earth the long suffering is thoroughly soaked.
The 'roos meek and cowering are bowing their heads,
Whilst leaves are bescattered, and onward are sped.
The hillocks are giving fairway to the spate
And long winding gullies are bearing the freight.
Of life giving moisture that later will send
The springtime's sweet graces, with sunshine to blend.
Music of song birds is stilled by the storm
For the wind croons a dirge in the branches forlorn.
An eagle hawk planes far above the tree tops,
The storm notwithstanding, his hunger must stop!
'Snowy' the dove is at his armours again
And care not a jot, love must laugh at the rain.
The patient 'topknots' hear his coo, coo, coo, coo
And wonder in vain why all this to-do.
The sky is more gloomy, oh why the wet frown?
Better were sunshine than rain scattered round.
A cheerful plumed 'Lory' with breast all aflame
Tinkles the notes of a forest refrain.
Though I'm caged and well fed, I'd sooner be free
In search of the fruits of bushland's green trees.
The quaint wee 'Blue Mountains' whose breastplate of gold
Defies the nor'easters, the rain, and the cold.
With grass roots are sleeping beneath the cold ground,
Would were spring say the ‘roos, when sweet herbage abounds.
But winter, like all things will soon pass away
And springtime and summer their plenty display.
So howl on thou storm, while thy anger shall last,
We'll gird up our loins, tho' chill be your blast
Soon the birds will be singing, and the genial sun,
Will be here to uplift us, when springtime's begun.
And flowers in their beauty the earth shall array,
And lambs shall be frisking in meadows all day.
The crocus, and tulip and sweet daffodil,
Already are clothing the gardens and rills.
our note of chill anger oh wearisome storm,
But awakens the memories of beauties unborn.
A wonderful balance in life you create
Twixt sorrow and laughter, sweet love and hate.
For life is a problem as old as the hills,
For some all the sunshine, and others the ills.
A well blossomed garden secluded from storm
Or a rack and a millstone from the day they are born.
But let us rejoice while in life yet we may
For there’s humour in life, 'een all things are not gay
To those who are tramping, seeking labour in vain
Let your left hand know not, what the other contains.
Like oil on the waters now troubled by storm
You will lighten his burden, till brightens the dawn.
When strivings and sorrows and stormings shall cease
And our clay with the earth is mingled in peace.
Rave on, oh storm, for your madness is vain
We'll sing with the birds when the sun shines again.
Thompson Noble.
25.7.1933
This work by Lake Macquarie City Library is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License