Poem
'The Wattle Tree' by Dora Wilcox Winter is not yet gone - but now The birds are carolling from the bough. And the mist has rolled away Leaving more beautiful the day. The sun is out - O come with me To look upon the wattle tree! Let misers hoard and hide their gold; Here there is treasure-trove untold, In yellow blossom, mass on mass Spread out for wayfarers who pass With hearts to feel, and eyes to see How lovely is the wattle tree. O strange, O magical! to forget For a moment care and fret, Whilst the next spirit, like a cup Drained of delight, again fills up And overflows with ecstasy Before the miracle of the tree. And rich and poor, who pause to bless The shining tree in thankfulness, Are bound in fellowship indeed. What matter politics or creed, Or class or colour? surely he Loves mankind who loves a Tree! Towards illimitable skies From the earth the trees arise: Givers of Joy, their gold and green Against the blue of