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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357492" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Christmas Scene</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To this green place the tourists troop,<br>By twos, by threes, and group by group,<br>Lads in bright blazers, girls in slacks,<br>Hikers with rucksack on their backs.<br>And bush ways, till their advent stilled,<br>With joyous shouting now is filled<br>'Cooee!' each gay town-dweller cries,<br>And counts himself full forest wise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An old grey bushman lounging by<br>Marks the sophisticated cry<br>And smiles a little as he says,<br>'The city folk got real queer ways.<br>What's this here 'cooee' mean at all?<br>Seems like a kind of mating call.<br>Childish they seem.' He smiles again,<br>The wise one in his own domain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here's his revenge for all he meets<br>Of stares and smiles in city streets,<br>For ridicule and laughing snubs<br>By city paths and city pubs.<br>He deems it now the crowning joke<br>To 'pull the legs' of city folk.<br>'What? Snakes?' says he. 'By gosh, you're right.<br>It's days like this they're apt to fight.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So moves the pageantry today<br>By many a pleasant bushland way,<br>And laughing crowds wake merriment<br>Where once, mid silences there went<br>Some wandering band of blacks, to seek,<br>Their scanty fare by hill and creek,<br>Less than ten score of years ago.<br>And of the future? Who may know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Content amid this Christmas scene<br>Of gleaming sky and glowing green<br>And happy shouts, one well might pray<br>For even yet some happier day<br>When, growing saner, kindlier still,<br>May devise, by wooded hill<br>And shaded vale, some scene of mirth<br>As yet unvisioned on our eath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is it for this our feet are set,<br>While war and folly men forget?<br>Orm ust this land drift back again<br>To primal silence, making vain<br>All that our vaunted progress won?<br>Who knows? Who cares? Here is the sun!<br>Glad youth calls youth by hill and creek. . . .<br>These are no thoughts for Christmas week.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clarence+Michael+James+Stanislaus+Dennis">Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357492" data-title="Christmas Scene de Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis" data-description="To this green place the tourists troop,
By twos, by threes, and group by group,
Lads in bright blazers, girls in slacks,
Hikers with rucksack on their backs.
And bush ways, till their advent stilled,
With joyous shouting now is filled
'Cooee!' eac..."></div>
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