Dreams in the Bushland, by John Sinclair McIntyre

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The trace of a smile came over her face, as slowly she rose to go,
But first she gently offered her hand; oh, the pain that my heart did know.
For the love that I felt for this charming girl was strong, and my heart was full
Of warmth and emotion, ‘twas in a whirl, then I saw her eyes were brimming pools,
As were mine, but she had to go.

‘Tis three long years since our parting there, by the slip-rails in the dawn,
Three long years since our saddened wave in the dust, ere she was gone.
But I know each day, as with aching eyes I gaze up that dusty track,
That the day she’ll return is getting nigh, for the pull of the bush will bring her back
To these loving arms so warm.

And when she returns from greener fields which beckoned her long ago,
Once more we’ll go riding side by side to the billabong down the road.
Then with horses tethered to Boxwood boughs, we’ll lie by that quiet lagoon,
And dream our way through the drifting hours from the rising sun to the warmth of noon,
As our souls in harmony grow.

We’ll plan a wedding a short time hence, and a bungalow real rough hewn,
A wild briar rose by a bush bough fence, with a Wagtail’s restless tune,
The smoke from our chimney will drift away as our children’s laughter sweet
Enhances the dawning of each new day in the world of our bush-land love replete,
But, oh, firstly, she must return.