Here you will find the Poem Lyrebirds of poet Judith Wright
Over the west side of the mountain, that?s lyrebird country. I could go down there, they say, in the early morning, and I?d see them, I?d hear them. Ten years, and I have never gone. I?ll never go. I?ll never see the lyrebirds - the few, the shy, the fabulous, the dying poets. I should see them, if I lay there in the dew: first a single movement like a waterdrop falling, then stillness, then a brown head, brown eyes, a splendid bird, bearing like a crest the symbol of his art, the high symmetrical shape of the perfect lyre. I should hear that master practising his art. No, I have never gone. Some things ought to be left secret, alone; some things ? birds like walking fables ? ought to inhabit nowhere but the reverence of the heart.