From Frankston into Cranbourne <br />The road runs all along <br />Between green-golden stretches, <br />A lovely way of song, <br />With thrushes singing loud and gay <br />And blackbirds clear and strong. <br />From Frankston into Cranbourne <br />We went, and cared for none. <br />The pines along the wayside <br />Showed yellow shoots, each one; <br />And the bare old orchard trees were gray <br />As cobwebs in the sun. <br />Where the bracken's frosted silver <br />Rimmed spikes of pearly heath <br />We saw the cream clematis <br />Weave lacy wreath on wreath <br />Above the jade-green fuchsia bells <br />And greenhoods underneath. <br />The purple sarsparilla <br />Spread out a cloak of pride, <br />And flat-faced little sundews--- <br />Each chalice opened wide--- <br />Were white flotillas floating on <br />Some tangled, moveless tide. <br />We knelt beside still waters, <br />As dark as dark could be, <br />And plucked the strange swamp-lilies, <br />Their fretted ivory <br />Flung up in two black-dusted wings <br />With fairy symmetry. <br />We watched the firesmoke rising <br />Behind its dim blue veil; <br />The shy young gum-trees dancing <br />In a vision sweet and frail, <br />And the far-off hills that lay in dream, <br />Pale as the dawn is pale. <br />From Frankston into Cranbourne <br />The road runs all along <br />Between green-golden stretches, <br />The lovely way of song, <br />With thrushes singing loud and gay <br />And blackbirds clear and strong.<br /><br />Myra Morris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-morning-walk/
