The opal-sandalled Morn and Spring
Go singing hand in hand,
Their sister voices sweetly ring
Across a perfumed land;
In Tyrian purple heaves the sea:
O come my love, I long for thee!

The white gum's lovely breast is bare,
Vying in vain with thine:
The wattle droops her sunny hair,
More bright thy tresses shine.
Where violets bloom thine eyes I see:
O come my love, I long for thee!

The magpie croons his lover-song,
The lark is in the sky,
The thrushes here have warbled long,
For thee the finches cry:
They love thy voice's melody—
O come my love, I long for thee!

O yield to me that scarlet mouth
That dares Aurora's scorn,
And I, Tithonus in the South,
Will kiss the fairer Morn,
And by thy lips immortal be:
O come my love, I long for thee!