A Vision Splendid

Half waking and half dreaming,     While starry lamps hung low     I saw a vision splendid     Upon the darkness glow.     The Capital Australian,     With waving banners plumed     A shining flower of marble     Magnificently bloomed.     Beside a snow-fed river     'Twas built in fashion rare     Upon a lofty mountain,     All in a valley fair.     The stately ships were sailing,     Like brides with flowing trains,     To seek its secret harbor     Amidst Australian plains.     And all around it flourished     Luxuriantly free,     The giant gum and mangrove,     The crimson desert-pea.     And I beheld a building     That made a stately show     The National Australian     Head Poetry Bureau.     I gazed upon that Building     With trembling joy aghast;     The long-felt want of ages     Was filled (I thought) at last.     No more the Native Poet     Need wildly beat his head     For lofty lyric measures     To buy him beer and bed.     Now he would lodge right nobly     And sleep serene, secure,     All in a chamber filled with     Adhesive furniture.     For never foot of Bailiff     Should pass his threshold o'er,     And never knock of landlord     Sound direful on his door.     The State should also aid him     To build his lofty rhyme     On lordly eggs-and-bacon,     And sausages sublime.     And he should drink no longer     Cheap beer at common bar,     But royal wine of Wunghnu     At two-and-nine the jar.     It was a vision splendid,     And brighter still did grow     When I was made the Chief of     The Poetry Bureau.     They clad me all in purple,     They hung me with festoons,     My singing-robes were spangled     With aluminium moons.     And, as a sign of genius     Above the common kind,     A wreath of gilded laurel     Around my hat they twined.     They also gave me power to     The grain sift from the chaff,     And choose at my large pleasure     My own poetic staff.     Then straightaway I appointed     To chant by day and night,     The brilliant young Australian     Who sang "The Land of Light."     I also gave in fashion     Hilariously free,     The Girl and Horse Department     In charge of Ogilvie.     And on the roof-ridge Brady     Sang salt-junk chanties great     To cheer the stout sea-lawyers     Who sail the Ship of State.     And tender-hearted Lawson     Sang everybody's wrongs;     And Brennan, in the basement,     Crooned weird, symbolic songs.     And on the throne beside me,     Above the common din,     He sang his Songs of Beauty,     My friend, the poet Quinn.     Our own Australian artists     Made beautiful its halls     The mighty steeds of Mahony     Pranced proudly on the walls.     Tom Roberts, he was there, too,     With painted portraits fine     Of men of light and leading     Me, and some friends of mine.     And Souter's Leering Lady,     'Neath hat and over fan,     With Souter's cat was ogling     His check-clothed gentleman.     And Fischer, Ashton, Lister,     With beetling genius rife     Pardieu! I was their Patron,     And set them up for life.     And from each dusky corner,     In petrified new birth,     Glared busts of Me and Barton,     By Nelson Illingworth.     And nine fair Muses dwelt there,     With board and lodging free;     Six by the States were chosen,     And I selected three.     And there we turned out blithely     Australian poems sound,     To sell in lengths like carpet,     And also by the pound.     For Paddy Quinn, the Statesman,     Had made a law which said     That native authors only     On pain of death be read.     O, brother bards, I grieve that     Good dreams do not come true;     You see how very nobly     I would have done to you!     But, ah! the vision vanished,     And took away in tow     The National Australian     Head Poetry Bureau.