In the hills of Jerusalem!
And if you’ve crossed the wilderness by well and palmy hod,
Pray heed the bells, the heavenly bells,
That call the folk to God.
“GERARDY.”
Palestine Poppies
From the hills to the sea, a scarlet trail of flowers in the spring, when the little grey larks are singing and all the low country is green with barley. Wild flowers everywhere, yellow and purple and butterfly-blue—but the poppy is our choice. It glows on Australian graves in the plains and down by the sea where the surf croons all day long; it makes beautiful old battle-grounds, and flakes the wady’s brown banks with scarlet. The blood-red poppy is Palestine’s flower. At the wind’s touch petals fall from the slender stems to lie softly in the grass, as if some rare and lovely bird had shed its plumage there. The red poppy is our flower of War, and in the tranquil days of Peace will be our flower of Memory.
Among the sea-dunes white lilies grow, and they, too, will have power to win us memories of Palestine, unclouded by sorrow; memories of the blue Mediterranean, serene as a summer sky, or flinging ramparts of foam alongshore. When we camped at Malala or Marakeb beach, heeding all day the call of the surf, the land wind bore to us faintly the scent of blossoms unseen. A colour, then, and a fragrance of flowers are the gifts we shall take overseas. One will bring memories tinged with sadness; the other of golden hours.
Palestine is a wild garden in spring. Many plants blossom on through the summer, fading at last in the season of mists, when dawn comes veiled like a bride and the earth is pearled with dew. In spring, when the wattles shower gold on our streams, Palestine poppies are blooming. From the white sea-dunes to the long blue hills the land is alight with flowers. And all the larks of the world and all the butterflies seem to be gathered there. Over every blossom some bird is singing or a butterfly floating on sunlit wings. A murmur of bees in convolvulus bells; grasshoppers leaping over the tall grass; wagtails gleaning in sheltered places; white vultures high in the blue; and kestrels hovering over the barley, keen-eyed for prey.