The bush garden

This poem was written by my grandmother's cousin, Roderic Quinn, in 1924 and is still relevant and charming today.

Keith Whitfield, Woy Woy

THE BUSH GARDEN

Into this garden set

Around with towering gums,

To rose and violet,

With petals fresh and wet,

At eventide there comes

On every wind that blows

The fragrance of bush flowers

Gold wattle and wild rose.

Untrimmed, Untended all,

From hollow and from hill

What time the shadows fall,

And homing peewees call

Down spaces green and still,

From hidden groves and bowers

With odours faint and sweet

They greet the garden flowers.

From tended square and plot,

Their petals fresh and wet

Noon's burning kiss forgot-

His wooing fierce and hot-

Red rose and violet

In sweet responsive mood

With precious perfumes greet

Their woodland sisterhood

The tall gums nod their heads

As though approvingly,

And silence, smiling, treads

Among the green and reds

Of bracken, bush and tree.

While soft and sweet and strange

Bush flower and garden flower

Their odours interchange.

Roderic Quinn