ON the Barrier Ranges, <br />Grim, and grey and old, <br />Spring, the Maid of Wonder, <br />Spreads her cloth-of-gold; <br />Every hill and hollow <br />Carpeting with flowers — <br />O for feet to follow <br />Through the shining hours! <br />Once I saw the damsel — <br />Watched her at her task, <br />Basking in her glamour <br />As the lizards bask: <br />And, if I remember <br />Aught of gleam and glow, <br />'Tis that sweet September <br />Twenty years ago. <br />Twenty golden springtides — <br />Much — and yet how slight <br />Measured with that region, <br />Hollow-land and height; <br />Biding through Earth's changes, <br />Steadfast to its shocks, <br />Oldest of the Ranges, <br />Ancientest of Rocks! <br />If with sweet recurrence <br />Youth renews the Earth, <br />Shall there come no glory — <br />Light and song and mirth — <br />Unto us who ponder <br />Much on banished joys? <br />Spring, thou Maid of Wonder. <br />Make us girls and boys!<br /><br />Roderic Quinn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-barrier/