Thankful, my country, be to him who first Brought hither from Australia oversea Sapling or seed of the undeciduous tree Whose grave and sombre foliage fears no burst Of heat from summer-naked heavens, nor thirst Though all the winter is rainless, and the bee Starves, finding not a blossom. Patiently The great roots delve, and feel though deep-immersed Some layer of ancient moisture, and the leaves Perish not, hanging pointed in the sky. To see these lofty trunks gray-barked and broad Wall with clear shade a long white southern road I have been as one devoted, who receives An impulse or a promise from on high.