By Arthur Patchett Martin


Not sweeter to the storm-tossed mariner
         Is glimpse of home, where wife and children wait
         To welcome him with kisses at the gate,
Than to the town-worn man the breezy stir
         Of mountain winds on rugged pathless heights:
         His long-pent soul drinks in the deep delights
That Nature hath in store. The sun-kissed bay
         Gleams thro' the grand old gnarled gum-tree boughs
Like burnished brass; the strong-winged bird of prey
Sweeps by, upon his lonely vengeful way --
         While over all, like breath of holy vows,
         The sweet airs blow, and the high-vaulted sky
Looks down in pity this fair Summer day
         On all poor earth-born creatures doomed to die.

DayPoems Poem No. 895
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/895.html">Bushland by Arthur Patchett Martin</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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