The bleak faced Winter, with his braggart winds <br />(Coiled to his scrawny throat in tattered black), <br />Posts down the highway of his late domain, <br />His spurs like leeches in his bleeding hack. <br /> <br />He rides to reach the huge embattled hills <br />Where all the brooding summer he may lie <br />Engulfed in Kosciusko’s silent snow, <br />His shadow waving o’er the lofty sky. <br /> <br />And jolly Spring, with love and laughter gay <br />Full fountaining, lets loose her tide of bees <br />Upon the waking ember-flame of bloom <br />New kindled in the honey-scented trees. <br /> <br />The old, old man forsakes the chimney-hole, <br />Where erst he warmed his bones and lazy blood, <br />And, clasping Molly to his wheezing breast, <br />Triumphant floats, cock-whoop, upon the flood. <br /> <br /><br /><br />Hugh McCrae<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/australian-spring/
