Three roads there are that climb and wind
Amongst the hills, and leave behind
The patterned orchards, sloping down
To meet a little country town. 

And of these roads I'll take the one
That tops the ridges, where the sun
Is tempered by the mountain-breeze
And dancing shadows of the trees. 

The road is rough - but to my feet
Softer than is the city street; 
And then the trees! - how beautiful
She-oak and gum - how fresh and cool! 

No walls there are to hamper me; 
Only in blue infinity
The distant mountain-ramparts rise
Beneath the broad arch of the skies. 

And in that high place I shall hear
The wild birds' singing, soft and clear; 
And horse-bells tinkling as of old
In amongst the wattles' gold 

Far-off is the ocean tide; 
But there across the country-side
Roll waves of bush that rise and fall
To break against the mountain-wall. 

And every little farm is seen
An island in a sea of green; 
And every little farm at night
Flings through the dark its beacon-light - 

There in the silence of the hills, 
I shall find peace that soothes and stills
The throbbing of the weary brain, -
For I am going home again.