The Wattle I shall not forget the wattle— Yellow and scented alike, The golden flowers of the wattle Will you heed when all else must die?

You haven’t breath enough yet,
But the whole world knows Through valleys of yellow and white, And the great sun in full cross.

At the door of the lady; Mine is not of all gold, But a clear truth in a world, That waits upon thee, O, dear!

• Dorothea Mackellar