The Singing Garden

The Satin Bower Bird

C.J. Dennis

SPARE a bloom of blue, lady,
    To adorn a bower.
A violet will do, lady—
    Any azure flower.
Since we hold a dance to-day,
We would make our ball-room gay,
Where the scented grasses sway,
    And the tall trees tower.

Beautiful but shy, lady,
    Yesterday we came
Dropping from the sky, lady,
    Flecks of golden flame—
Golden flame and royal blue—
We have come to beg of you
Any scrap of heaven’s hue
    For our dancing game.

Spare us but a leaf, lady,
    If our suit be spurned
We shall play the thief, lady,
    When your back is turned;
Ravishing your garden plot
Of the choicest you have got—
Pansy or forget-me-not—
    Counting it well earned.

Then, if some rare chance, lady,
    Later should befall.
And you gain a glance, lady,
    At our dancing hall,
You will find your blossoms there
’Mid our decorations where,
With a proud, patrician air,
    We hold the Bushland Ball.

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