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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415739" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dominion</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, fair Ideal, unto whom,<br>Through days of doubt and nights of gloom,<br>Brave hearts have clung, while lips of scorn,<br>Made mock of thee as but a dream—<br>Already on the heights of morn<br>We see thy golden sandals gleam,<br>And, glimmering through the clouds that wrap thee yet,<br>The seven stars that are thy coronet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why tarriest thou 'twixt earth and heaven?<br>Go forth to meet her, Sisters seven!<br>'Tis but your welcome she awaits<br>Ere, casting off the veil of cloud,<br>The bodied Hope of blending States,<br>She stands revealed, imperial, proud;<br>As from your salutation sprung full-grown,<br>With green for raiment and with gold for zone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From where beneath unclouded skies<br>Thy peerless haven glittering lies;<br>From where o'er pleasant pastures rove<br>The flocks from which thy greatness sprang;<br>From vine-clad slope and orange-grove:<br>From “grave mute woods” thy Minstrel sang;<br>From Alpine peaks aglow with flush of morn,<br>Go forth to meet her, thou, the eldest-born.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From where, reverberant at thy feet,<br>The billows of two oceans meet;<br>From where the rocks thy treasures hide;<br>From mart and wharf, and harbour-mouth;<br>From where the city of thy pride<br>Ennobles all the teeming South—<br>To meet her, thou with loftiest zeal inflamed,<br>Go forth, Victoria, queen and queenly named.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, the youngest, yet most fair,<br>First to discern, and first to dare;<br>Whose lips, sun-smitten, earliest spoke<br>The herald words of coming good,<br>And with their clarion-summons broke<br>The slumber of the sisterhood—<br>Foremost of all thy peers press on to greet<br> <br>Her advent, strewing flowers before her feet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, around whose brow benign<br>Vine-leaf and olive intertwine;<br>Upon whose victories the Star<br>Of Peace looks down with no rebuke,<br>The weapons of whose warfare are<br>The ploughshare and the pruning-hook—<br>Take with thee gifts of corn, and wine, and oil,<br>To greet thy liege with homage of the soil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou, too, whom last the morning-beams<br>Wake from thy sleep by peaceful streams<br>Slow westering to the Indian main—<br>Thou, too, beneath thy later sun<br>Conspire with these in glad refrain<br>Of welcome to the coming One,<br>And from thy fragrant forests tribute bring<br>Of grateful incense for thine offering.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, Pomona of the South,<br>Ruddy of cheek, and ripe of mouth,<br>Who from thy couch of orchard-bloom<br>With fearless foot are wont to stray<br>By mountain lakes, or in the gloom<br>Of forest-depths unknown of day—<br>Be thy shrill greeting borne upon the breeze<br>Above the thunder of thy girdling seas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor thou delay, who dwell'st apart,<br>To join thy peers with gladsome heart—<br>Whether the summons thee o'ertake<br>On icy steep or fruitful plain,<br>Or where thy craggy bulwarks break<br>The onslaught of the warring main,<br>Or find thee couched within some ferny lair,<br>Flax-flower and hyacinth mingling with thy hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bind ye the sevenfold cord apace;<br>Weave ye the sevenfold wreath, to grace<br>The brow of her whose avatar<br>The mighty Mother waits to bless;<br>In sevenfold choir be borne afar<br>The music of your joyfulness.<br>Till o'er the world's disquiet your song prevail—<br>“Australia Foederata! Hail! all hail!”</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Brunton+Stephens">James Brunton Stephens</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=415739" data-title="The Dominion de James Brunton Stephens" data-description="Oh, fair Ideal, unto whom,
Through days of doubt and nights of gloom,
Brave hearts have clung, while lips of scorn,
Made mock of thee as but a dream—
Already on the heights of morn
We see thy golden sandals gleam,
And, glimmering through the clo..."></div>
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