Here you will find thePoemWhat The Heart Of The Poet Said To The 'Bulletin'of poet Joseph Furphy
Tell me not in future numbers That our thought becomes inane, That our metre halts and lumbers, When the Wattle blooms again. Lies of great men all remind us We can challenge and restrain Such attempts to bluff and blind us, When the Wattle blooms again. Therefore take our gage of battle! Freedom reasserts her reign: We are not dumb, driven, cattle When the Wattle blooms again. Doubtless ANSWERS, weekly, daily, Adding to his heap of slain, Feels a jar, when Nature gaily Bids the Wattle bloom again. Nocent censor! time thou learnest All this contract may contain ? Dust thou art, to dust returnest, But the Wattle blooms again. Time may change this loyal journal From religious to profane, But a rhythmic law eternal Makes the Wattle bloom again. Trust no Flossie, howe'er pleasant, Sweeps are treacherous, totes are vain; Banks and scrip are evanescent, But the Wattle blooms again. Cultivate no fair ideal; Own no country-seat in Spain; All these things must go to Sheol, Whil'st the Wattle blooms again. Czar, and Pope, and Dei Gratia Pass like phantoms of the brain Never so our bright acacia, For the Wattle blooms again. Thus you see, austere and lonely, Sailing o'er Life's solemn main, One great fact is certain only ? That the Wattle blooms again.
