Vonda Stanley's collection of early Australian bush poems

SUMMER

I am weary,

Weary of bracing myself against the sun’s 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 river’s edge the hills lie fast asleep;

Pale stars slip o’er 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