Within the wooded avenue I stood,
And I was proud.
I looked upon the scene and found it good;
For here, I vowed,
Reigned Beauty rare. Sweet praises filled my mouth
For this, the loveliest city of the south;
Yet not a soul could hear,
Altho' my lyric praise with fervor flowed;
For, as I spoke, there rumbled down the road
A lorry-load of beer.
I tried again. I spoke of civic pride,
Aesthetic joy.
With those rare phrases, culled from far and wide,
Poets employ.
I waxed in aphoristic ecstasy,
Hymning the loveliness of sky and tree;
Yet not a single soul
Gave heed to me; for sudden thunders grew
As round the bend there lumbered into view
A waggon piled with coal.
"Goths!" I exclaimed. "Did you raise Beauty here
In this green place
But for the sport of flinging coal and beer
In her sweet face?"
A large truck missed me by a hair's-breadth then
Manned by a crew of large, unlovely men
Who jeered and darned my eyes.
"Vandals!" I shouted. "Nay, repent your sins!"
Then leapt again to dodge a load of skins
That smelled unto the skies.
Still on they came, truck, waggon, rank on rank,
I dodged, I leapt;
The threw myself upon a grassy bank
And there I wept,
Wept for the city . . . A park-keeper came,
A mean, ungracious man, who took my name.
"O man!" I cried. "Alas,
See how I weep. Must beauty disappear?"
Said he: "Buzz orf! You can't do that there 'ere.
Spoilin' our nice noo grass!"
Notes
Doubt has been expressed that the beauty and sylvan charm of Alexandra Avenue can be preserved if, with the building of a new Yarra bridge at Swan Street. Heavy commercial traffic is diverted into the Avenue. !!
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