Above Lavender Bay

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