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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Western Australia</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O Beauteous Southland! Land of yellow air<br>That hangeth o've thee slumbering, and doth hold<br>The moveless foliage of thy valleys fair,<br>And wooded hills, like aureole of gold.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Oh thou, discovered ere the fitting time,<br>Ere Nature in completion turned thee forth!<br>Ere aught was finished but thy peerless clime,<br>Thy virgin breath allured the amorous North.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O Land, God made thee wondrous to the eye!<br>But His sweet singers thou hast never heard;<br>He left thee, meaning to come bye-and-bye,<br>And give rich voice to every bright-winged bird.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He painted with fresh hues thy myriad flowers,<br>But left them scentless; ah! their woeful dole,<br>Like sad reproach of their creator's powers,<br>To make so sweet fair bodies, void of soul.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He gave thee trees of odorous precious wood;<br>But, midst them all, bloomed not one tree of fruit.<br>He looked, but said not that His work was good,<br>When leaving thee all perfumeless and mute.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He blessed thy flowers with honey; every bell<br>Looks earthward, sunward, with a yearning wist,<br>But no bee-lover ever notes the swell<br>Of hearts, like lips, a-hungering to be kist.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">O Strange Land, thou art virgin! Thou art more<br>Than fig-tree barren! Would that I could paint<br>For other's eyes the glory of the shore<br>Where last I saw thee; but the senses faint.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419101" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">In soft delicious dreaming when they drain<br>Thy wine of colour. Virgin fair thou art.<br>All sweetly fruitful, waiting with soft pain<br>The spouse that comes to wake thy sleeping heart.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+Boyle+O%27Reilly">John Boyle O'Reilly</a></strong></div>

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