Not sweeter to the storm-tossed mariner <br /> Is glimpse of home, where wife and children wait <br /> To welcome him with kisses at the gate, <br />Than to the town-worn man the breezy stir <br /> Of mountain winds on rugged pathless heights: <br /> His long-pent soul drinks in the deep delights <br />That Nature hath in store. The sun-kissed bay <br /> Gleams thro' the grand old gnarled gum-tree boughs <br />Like burnished brass; the strong-winged bird of prey <br />Sweeps by, upon his lonely vengeful way -- <br /> While over all, like breath of holy vows, <br /> The sweet airs blow, and the high-vaulted sky <br />Looks down in pity this fair Summer day <br /> On all poor earth-born creatures doomed to die.<br /><br />Arthur Patchett Martin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bushland/
