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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409024" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bush Goblins</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Locust drones along the drowsy noon, <br>The brown bee lingers in the yellow foam, <br>Blossom on blossom searching deep, but soon <br> Slides heavy-wingèd home. <br> <br>The vacant air, half visible, complains <br>All overburdened of its noontide hour; <br>Sound after sound in heavy silence wanes <br> At the strong sun’s burning power. <br> <br>Let the strong sun burn down the barren plain <br>And scour the empty heaven, and twist the air <br>To filmiest flickerings, o’er us in vain <br> His hollow vault doth glare. <br> <br>For us gnarled boughs and massive boles o’ershade, <br>And tall bulrushes guard us with green spears <br>From the grim noon; our dewy jewelled glade <br> Never a footstep nears. <br> <br>Come feast with us; behold our fragrant store <br>Of candied locusts, that no longer drone <br>Through summer eves, but transmigrated, pour <br> Thin goblin monotone <br> <br>Through eucalyptine stillness as we rouse <br>Our gnomy anthem to the answering trees, <br>While gold-eyed toad-guards of our hidden house <br> Croak full-fed choruses. <br> <br>Come visit us; O follow till you find <br>In some green shade our secret banquetings, <br>Where brolgas dance, and, some great stem behind, <br> A hidden lyrebird sings. <br> <br>Ask of the eaglehawk in the blue air, <br>Ask of the chattering parrot, he should tell; <br>Fat possum in the tree bole, furry bear, <br> Us beast and bird know well. <br> <br>The silver lizard on the sun-baked stone, <br>The green-flecked tree-snake in his circle coiled, <br>Dreaming of evil, man, and man alone <br> Missed us, howe’er he toiled. <br> <br>Come feast thou with us; ancient kings of all, <br>We are the mystery at the heart of noon, <br>Weird unseen chucklers when long shadows fall <br> From the misleading moon. <br> <br>We are the spirits of distorted trees; <br>We beckon down dim gullies, far astray, <br>Till lost, deep lost, the wild-eyed traveller sees <br> Dark at the heart of day. <br> <br>And oh, we laughed about his last choked groans <br>Beside the water that he sought so long, <br>And oh, we danced about his clean-picked bones <br> To a gnomy undersong. <br> <br>For all the day we chuckle and provoke <br>With mocking shapes and noises each bright hour, <br>But when dark even from his grave hath broke <br> Then are we lords of power.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Mackenzie+Green">Henry Mackenzie Green</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=409024" data-title="Bush Goblins de Henry Mackenzie Green" data-description="The Locust drones along the drowsy noon, 
The brown bee lingers in the yellow foam, 
Blossom on blossom searching deep, but soon 
 Slides heavy-wingèd home. 
 
The vacant air, half visible, complains 
All overburdened of its noontide hour; 
Sound..."></div>
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