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