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A white road winding a green land through Here a scent 0’ primrose, there a stretch 0’ blue, A gold gorse burning on a tall hill-crest Ihese will I be seeking when I turn me West. A grey mist lifting at a pale dawn’s break, A low wind crooning round a reed-rimmed lake, A seagull crying o’er the ocean’s breast, These will I be finding when I turn me West. A brown trush singing on a wild rose spray, A daft stream dancing down a wind-swept brae A blackbird calling through an Autumn gloam, These will I be hearing when I turn me home.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NORAG19280919.2.13
Bibliographic details
Northland Age, Volume 28, Issue 67, 19 September 1928, Page 3
Word Count
105Home, Northland Age, Volume 28, Issue 67, 19 September 1928, Page 3
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