’Tis glorious morning everywhere br Save where the alleys lie— br I see the fleecy steam jets bid br “Good morning” to the sky. br The gullies of the waratah br Are near, with fall and pool, br And by the shadowed western rocks br The bays are fresh and cool. br To “points” that hint of Italy— br Of Italy and Spain— br I see the busy ferry boats br Come nosing round again. br To the toy station down below br I see the toy trains run— br (I wonder when those ferry boats br Will get their business done?) br br Above the Bay called Lavender br This bard is domiciled, br Where up through rich, dark greenery br The red-tiled roofs are piled— br (At least some are—I hope that soon br They all shall be red-tiled)— br A moonlight night in middle-age br That makes one feel a child. br br Close over, to the nearer left— br That feels the ocean breeze— br A full moon in a dim blue sky br A church spire and dark trees. br And, further right, the harsher heights br Of Mosman, Double Bay, br And Rose Bay, with their scattered lights, br Have softened with the day. br br And fair across to where we know br The shelving sea cliffs are— br The lighthouse, with a still faint glow, br Beneath a twinkling star. br Across the harbour from the right, br And fairly in a line, br The Clock-tower on the City Hall, br A ship-mast and a pine. br br The pale and bright, yet dusky blue, br And crossed by fleecy bars, br Flings out the brilliant city lights, br The moonlight and the stars— br And like a transformation scene, br On sheet glass down below, br The fairy-lighted ferry boats br Are gliding to and fro.