While the world’s a-bustle
On the upward grade—
Straining brain and muscle,
Plying pen and spade—
Let us go a-dreaming,
With your hair a-streaming ...
Cupid lies a-scheming
’Neath the mulga shade.
How the rabble clatters
As it hurries by!
Chasing Passion’s tatters,
Sighing Passion’s sigh.
Soft airs, sandal-scented,
Fan us: golden-tinted,
Like a landscape minted,
Plain and hill-top lie.
Willy-willies whirling
Play for me and you,
Curling up, and curling,
Till they reach the blue:
Like a giant sweeping,
Creeping on, and creeping
’Mongst the trees, a-sleeping
Mid-day’s languor through.
Bell-bird notes are swelling
Upward from the glade;
Lovelorn swains are telling
Love-tales worn and frayed:
Let them strain their tether!
You and I together
Never wilt a feather,
Lolling in the shade.
Earnest souls, or sighing,
Death has ever paid!
See pale Effort lying
Rue- and wreath-arrayed!
Come then, Jean, a-dreaming,
With your hair a-streaming ...
Cupid lies a-scheming
’Neath the mulga shade.
[Decoration: Mining equipment]