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Poem by George Essex Evans The Land of the Dawning Darkrose her shore in seas of amethyst By tropic breezes kissed, A summer land in watery wastes forlorn, Her ranges floating in the snow-white mist And gold of early morn. The tides of Empire ebbed and flowed afar; The thrones of nations in the dust were hurled, Silent she slept beneath the morning star, A virgin world. Love, Birth, and Death, the stress of Age and Race, Changed not her maiden face— Unstocked her pastures and untilled her soil— She who for labour builds a throne apace Saw not her people toil; Down the low valleys, up the stormy steeps, Careless they roamed at will: the land was free From desert stark to where the mangrove sleeps Upon the sea. There dropped no anchor at her river bars Beneath the quiet stars; No wandering sail her silent waters swept; By waste and scrub, o’er plain and rocky scars No alien footstep crept; In feathery billows of her grassy seas Some lonely mountain stretched its capes of blue; Only the heavens above her and the breeze Her secrets knew. Where the wild grass grew rank on slopes forlorn Rise fields of yellow corn, And purple lucerne-bloom makes sweet the air; The sullen mountain, lost in mists of morn, Its golden heart lays bare. Spoils of her pastures crowd full many a mart; Her glittering treasure calls to many a land; She has no secrets for the daring heart And strong brown hand. The smoke and thunder of her cities rise To the same careless skies; Her arteries thread the same wide sunlit leas, Her fleets stretch forth their wings of enterprise O’er the same summer seas. She to the Nations cries: “No Past, no Fame, No Memories quicken round my flag unfurled; The mightier, therefore, shall I carve my name Upon the World.” George Essex Evans George Essex Evans's other poems: 1194 Views |
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