Her best-known poem was written at age 19, while homesick in England, and was first published in 1908. The only daughter of noted physician, DOROTHEA MACKELLAR was born into a July day in Sydney in 1885. Although raised in a professional urban family, her poetry is inspired by her experience on her brothers’ farms near Gunnedah (North-West New South Wales).
DOROTHEA MACKELLAR is waiting for you in Waverley Cemetery (Sydney’s Eastern suburbs). She was a woman of independent means, and published poetry and other works until 1926, and was active in the Sydney literary scene of the 1930s. In her later years, she ceased writing because suffering poor health. Her last years were spent in a nursing home in Randwick.
THE LIGHT’S COLOURS – This is not easy to understand for you that come from a distant land, where all the colours are low in pitch, deep purples, emeralds deep and rich, where autumn’s flaming and summer’s green. Here is a beauty you have not seen. All is pitched in a higher key, lilac, topaz, and ivory, palest jade-green and pale clear blue like aquamarines that the sun shines through, golds and silvers, we have at will. Silver and gold on each plain and hill, silver-green of the myall leaves, tawny gold of the garnered sheaves, silver rivers that silent slide, golden sands by the water-side, golden wattle, and golden broom, silver stars of the rosewood bloom. Amber sunshine, and smoke-blue shade: opal colours that glow and fade. On the gold of the upland grass blue cloud-shadows that swiftly pass. Wood-smoke blown in an azure mist. Hills of tenuous amethyst. Oft the colours are pitched so high, the deepest note is the cobalt sky. We have to wait till the sunset comes for shades that feel like the beat of drums, or like organ notes in their rise and fall, purple and orange and cardinal, or the peacock-green that turns soft and slow to peacock-blue as the great stars show. Sugar-gum boles flushed to peach-blow pink. Blue-gums, tall at the clearing’s brink. Ivory pillars, their smooth fine slope dappled with delicate heliotrope. Grey of the twisted mulga-roots. Golden-bronze of the budding shoots. Tints of the lichens that cling and spread. Nile-green, primrose, and palest red. Sheen of the bronze-wing; blue of the crane. Fawn and pearl of the lyrebird’s train. Cream of the plover; grey of the dove. These are the hues of the land I love.
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