Mittagong

I drove you through the mistlands

At sleepy Mittagong,

My car was like a stately coach

With its minions overcome,

The road was like a ribbon of light

A-twist in a fairy dell,

But lost in front, and lost behind

As we entered the fairy spell.

 

The trees rose out of the sylvan scene

Like a giant mushroom glade,

And silver dripped from our wondering eyes

As we saw the land they played.

I laid your head in disbelief

On a silken cushion, fairly,

For this was seen at Mittagong

At five in the morning early.

 

David Lewis Paget