Dark purple, chased with sudden gloom and glory, <br />Like waves in wild unrest, <br />Low-wooded billows and steep summits hoary, <br />Ridge, slope, and mountain crest, <br />Cease at her feet with faces turned to meet her, <br />Enthroned, apart, serene <br />Above her vassal hills whose voices greet her <br />The Mountain Queen. <br />Fair City, unto whom as to a lover <br />Our tender memories run— <br />Childhood and Springtide’s careless hours are over, <br />And Summer days begun. <br />Behold, amid what wealth of vine and meadow <br />Thy maiden feet are set; <br />And on thy brow, undimmed of care or shadow, <br />Thy civic coronet! <br /> <br />There have been dreams for thee by men who slumber <br />Sound where no voice may reach, <br />Who, ere they joined the host that none may number, <br />Saw what they strove to teach— <br />The vision of a city, wide and splendid, <br />Crowning the Range’s wall, <br />And o’er thy sweeping plateau, far extended, <br />Welcome for all!<br /><br />George Essex Evans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/toowoomba/
