Tis glorious morning everywhere
Save where the alleys lie
I see the fleecy steam jets bid
Good morning to the sky.
The gullies of the waratah
Are near, with fall and pool,
And by the shadowed western rocks
The bays are fresh and cool.
To points that hint of Italy
Of Italy and Spain
I see the busy ferry boats
Come nosing round again.
To the toy station down below
I see the toy trains run
(I wonder when those ferry boats
Will get their business done?)
Above the Bay called Lavender
This bard is domiciled,
Where up through rich, dark greenery
The red-tiled roofs are piled
(At least some areI hope that soon
They all shall be red-tiled)
A moonlight night in middle-age
That makes one feel a child.
Close over, to the nearer left
That feels the ocean breeze
A full moon in a dim blue sky
A church spire and dark trees.
And, further right, the harsher heights
Of Mosman, Double Bay,
And Rose Bay, with their scattered lights,
Have softened with the day.
And fair across to where we know
The shelving sea cliffs are
The lighthouse, with a still faint glow,
Beneath a twinkling star.
Across the harbour from the right,
And fairly in a line,
The Clock-tower on the City Hall,
A ship-mast and a pine.
The pale and bright, yet dusky blue,
And crossed by fleecy bars,
Flings out the brilliant city lights,
The moonlight and the stars
And like a transformation scene,
On sheet glass down below,
The fairy-lighted ferry boats
Are gliding to and fro.
