There is waving of grass in the breeze And a song in the air, And a murmur of myriad bees That toil everywhere. There is scent in the blossom and bough, And the breath of the Spring Is as soft as a kiss on a brow— And Spring-time I sing.
There is drought on the land, and the stock Tumble down in their tracks Or follow—a tottering flock— The scrub-cutter's axe. While ever a creature survives The axes shall swing; We are fighting with fate for their lives— And the combat I sing.
Sources, publication & text notesReference details
Canonical recordPOEM-001038
Copy-textSaltbush Bill, J.P., and Other Verses (1917), Project Gutenberg ebook 1317; selected copy-text retained exactly; substantive wording and line/stanza layout independently confirmed against SRC-000076 under D-180
While The Billy BoilsSearch