O’er carpets spread far in a golden array
We tramped it to school in the morning.
“The flowers have no scent,” but the wattle we brought
From hill-sides and glens where we found it
Was filling the room with its glory, we thought,
And wafting its sweetness around it.
And fragrant the greeting the eucalypts threw
From branches of amber and sorrel;
While hard by the door a pittosporum grew—
We called it “The Japanese Laurel.”