Spare a bloom of blue, lady, To adorn a bower. A violet will do, lady— Any azure flower. Since we hold a dance to-day, We would make our ball-room gay, Where the scented grasses sway, And the tall trees tower. Beautiful but shy, lady, Yesterday we came Dropping from the sky, lady, Flecks of golden flame— Golden flame and royal blue— We have come to beg of you Any scrap of heaven’s hue For our dancing game. Spare us but a leaf, lady, If our suit be spurned We shall play the thief, lady, When your back is turned; Ravishing your garden plot Of the choicest you have got— Pansy or forget-me-not— Counting it well earned. Then, if some rare chance, lady, Later should befall. And you gain a glance, lady, At our dancing hall, You will find your blossoms there ’Mid our decorations where, With a proud, patrician air, We hold the Bushland Ball.