Tho’ still they ‘wait the starry flowers’ charms.
A trembling hope of some great joy to be,
Thrills thro’ each drooping fern and whispering tree.
Our Austral forest, like a sighing bride,
Who ’waits her lover from the ocean tide,
Wrapped in her softly-rustling robe of green,
Lifts to the smiling skies her brow serene
All thro’ the weary, waiting, wintry hours,
And dreams of him whose coming brings the flowers;
And listens, longing for her absent lord,
And waits expectant for the magic word.
The tender touch, the balmy breath of spring,
Her lord and love, her bridegroom and her king.
Not yet he comes—and still thro’ many days
She longs and listens, loves and hopes and prays,
Yet never doubts that he will come at last,
And o’er her form his radiant mantle cast.
Then shall her brow with clematis be wreathed;
Then shall her trembling hopes in song be breathed;