A Northern Plain,
O wide, wide plain that winneth thought to thee,
What is thy charm and what thy potency
To weary hearts like mine? I love, I love
To dream of thee, Heaven’s azure arch above
Is not more free, across thy great expanse
The sunshine lies as if a magic trance
Detained it, and a soft gray monotone —
The hue of dreams — enfolds thee, and the moan
Of night-winds o’er thee, when a silver flood
Invades thee, stirs the hearer’s frighted blood
To weird delight. Thy limitless repose
Upon my heart like mesmerism grows.
Ah me ! to steep my spirit once again
In thy enchanted calm — oh ! Northern Plain.
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, page 111