TREASURE
P UREST gold is my treasure trove; A miser am I! Gleaming palely-a fairy grove, Money can’t buy! Laughing I visit my storeroom strong, Counting my treasures when nights are long, Sifting it softly and singing a song, Golden as rye! Plundér ‘untold does my storeroom hold, Richest of gems and brightest of gold. My treasure house is my memory, A citadel strong, Wherein I store them carefully, Singing my song! Gloating I look at them one by one, Gleanving bright gold of the morning’s sun, Molten red tint when the day is doneDrifting along- ‘ Yellow: and gold of a wattle tree, Laughing-faced daffodils nodding at me. A butterfly’s wing with its tisswd gold, . A young maiden’s hair; The lustre of corn, yellow butiercups bold, A gorse hedge’s flare! Orange and red of the apple-tree’s best, Molten and bronze, of the leaves secking rest, Yellow the sands and the fleeting bird’s breast, Gold everywhere! Plunder untold does imy storeroom hold; Richest of gems and brightest of gold!
Oh, Mack
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/RADREC19300620.2.83
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Radio Record, Volume III, Issue 49, 20 June 1930, Page 39
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170TREASURE Radio Record, Volume III, Issue 49, 20 June 1930, Page 39
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