The Vision.

I think this place was folded in the heart Of a tall boy who dreamed to quietness When all the woods and ways were as a part Of Augusts green caress. Old garden and grey wall and happy wood And yellowing meadow called far down the world. Where surrey stooped to Sussex and the good Blue cottage smokes were curled. And in and out, a dusty winding thread, The long road crept between the hedges grey; The high sun-freckled elms above his head Linked arms across the way. Always through sudden breaks of pleasant green A beckoning hollow or a golden hill Caught the familiar moment and the sheep Of a boys wondering will. For every distant light and shadow made A story of himself that years should tell To happy days when the new summers paid Bright looks for deeds done well. All lands, all ages clustered in the folds Of those broad ancient sweeps of August land Some treasure of that day a heart sill holds Did those fields understand? Did those great trees that scarcely shook their green, Those deep-mossed boles and roots that grasped the dust, Know that his open, dreaming eyes had seen What far years held in trust? A stranger forest in a stranger land, A cottage shining in a whiter sun And a great peace that like a kind, soft hand Smoothed out the hard thing done. Ah, Surrey woods and hedgerows far away, Once when your August with hot steps went by A boys heart walked with you a golden day And heard your elm-trees sigh!

And, in that sigh was the dear wind that falls Lower and lower by this quiet place Dying in roses all about my walls And all about loves face.
David McKee Wright. N.S.W. The Bulletin, 23 June 1921.