The Dreamer - 1911
Over the crest of the Hill of Sleep,
Over the plain where the mists lie deep,
Into a country of wondrous things,
Enter we dreaming, and know we're kings.
Murmur or roar as it may, the stream
Laughs to the youngster who dreams his dream,
Leave him alone till his fool's heart breaks:
Dreams all are real till the dreamer wakes!
Colour - 1909
The lovely things that I have watched unthinking,
Unknowing, day by day,
that their soft dyes have steeped my soul in colour
That will not pass away -
Great saffron sunset clouds, and larkspur mountains,
And fenceless miles of pain,
And hillsides golden-green in that unearthly
Clear shining after rain;
And nights of blue and pearl, and long smooth beaches,
Yellow as sunburnt wheat,
Edged with a line of foam that creams and hisses,
Enticing weary feet.
And emeralds, and sunset-hearted opals,
And Asian marble, veined
With scarlet flame, and cool green jade and moonstones
Misty and azure-stained;
And almond trees in bloom, and oleanders,
Or a wide purple sea,
Of plain-land gorgeous with a lovely poison,
The evil Darling pea.
If I am tired I call on these to help me
To dream - and dawn-lit skies,
Lemon and pink, or faintest, coolest lilac,
Float on my soothed eyes.
There is no night so black but you shine through it,
There is no morn so drear,
O colour of the world, but I can find you,
Most tender, pure and clear.
Thanks be to God, Who gave this gift of colour,
Which who shall seek find;
Thanks be to God, Who gives me strength to hold it,
Though I were stricken blind.
- Dorothea Mackellar OBE