Winter had come to frown a little while, And bluster from his skies of sodden grey, Until bland Autumn, with a cheerful smile, Chased him into the dark hills far away; Returning then to stay Where singing birds the silver dawns beguile And sunsets burn down an illumined aisle Day after golden day. Now comes a season of surprised delight. The alien trees, now loath to lose their leaves, Strive yet to hold their yellow treasure tight. Shy swallows twitter by the sun-bathed eaves And, while sly Autumn thieves Yet more of Winter’s days, postpone their flight. Birds hymn the day; but thro’ the windless night A gloomy mopoke grieves. Under the azure noon the forest sleeps Drugged by this sudden and unlooked-for balm. Up from her lowly bed a primrose peeps, Tempted too soon by hours of spring-like calm Spilled from a lavish palm. And now, from where the hill-stream laughs and leaps, The thrush’s evensong, as slow dusk creeps, Lifts like a grateful psalm.