Summer is waning, song birds are at rest,
The young ones have bidden good-bye to their nests.
Now bushlands to venture, to forage, and roam
Till spring time and mating shall build them a home.
Soon we'll be having the crown of the year
With bright golden sheaves to give us good cheer.
To him who has laboured both early and late
A bountiful harvest soon now will await.
The sun in his anger is beating retreat
South winds that are blowing have softened his beat
And sweet gentle rain, at fair Portia's command
Hath revived the sparse herbage broadcast o'er the land.
Fern fronds are folded, the brambles are bare
The leaves are a'falling all yellow and sere.
Lake Macquarie’s vast surface is dimpled anew,
For the winds are contrary now under review.
Soon do the nights with their darkness foreclose,
To lull we poor mortals, to dreamless repose.
The mopokes' quite early with shadowed alarm
Strike fear to wee creatures in bushlandand farm.
Reynard is creeping with short yaps through the bush
Till dawn with her finger of light has been hushed.
Sailors are plouhing the world's seven seas
And risking the shoals, still undaunted and free
So that we who are anchored in this sunny land
May partake of the gifts of the earth's other strands.
Spring flowers are a'sleeping, caressed by the earth
Till winter has passed and comes their rebirth.
When birds are a'caroling, and bushland is gay
With movement and laughter, and sweet roundalays.
When dew is bespread with the fairies light wand
To sparkle like jewels, when sun kissed the land.
On summer, why hasten in this sunny clime
To shorten the days? - call a halt yet awhile;
So now of the vintage free flowing and red
I partake with the muses and hasten to bed.
Thompson Noble. Bulba 18.3.1933
This work by Lake Macquarie City Library is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License