Other lands, but we know which is best --
Where the wattle-bloom perfumes the breeze,
And the bell-bird builds her nest.



A Song


Above us only
The Southern stars,
And the moon o'er brimming
Her golden bars.
And a song sweet and clear
As the bell-bird's plaint,
Hums low in my ear
Like a dream-echo faint.
The kind old song --
How did it go?
With its ripple and flow,
That you used to sing, dear,
Long ago.

Hand fast in hand,
I, love, and thou;
Hand locked in hand,
And on my brow
Your perfumed lips
Breathing love and life --
The love of the maiden,