Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows, <br />Though laden with faint perfume, <br />'Tis the fragrance rare that the bushman knows, <br />The scent of the wattle bloom. <br />Two-thirds of our journey at least are done, <br />Old horse ! let us take a spell <br />In the shade from the glare of the noon-day sun, <br />Thus far we have travell'd well ; <br />Your bridle I'll slip, your saddle ungirth, <br />And lay them beside this log, <br />For you'll roll in that track of reddish earth, <br />And shake like a water-dog. <br /> <br />Upon yonder rise there's a clump of trees— <br />Their shadows look cool and broad— <br />You can crop the grass as fast as you please, <br />While I stretch my limbs on the sward ; <br />'Tis pleasant, I ween, with a leafy screen <br />O'er the weary head, to lie <br />On the mossy carpet of emerald green, <br />'Neath the vault of the azure sky ; <br />Thus all alone by the wood and wold, <br />I yield myself once again <br />To the memories old that, like tales fresh told, <br />Come flitting across the brain.<br /><br />Adam Lindsay Gordon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-wood-and-wold/
