Vonda Stanley's collection of early Australian bush poems



I am weary,

Weary of bracing myself against the sunís hot hand;

I am weary, and I dream of cool places . . . .


I see a grassy couch

Under a canopy of leaves;

A reedy river murmers by,

Crooning an old, old melody

Tuned to a long-forgotten scale,

Made when the world was young.


Rolled to the riverís edge the hills lie fast asleep;

Pale stars slip oíer their ledge and sink into the deep:

Down in the deep they sink to slumbrous peace,

Down in the deep they drink the water of peace;

In the quiet deep they quench their fires in sleep

And drown in a cool green dream.


The sun insists his burning hand upon my head;

I am weary, and I dream of cool places.  


  Louis Lavater

1867 - 1953

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