Are not our veins made purple with our blood, 
And our dominions touch they not afield ? 
Pours not the sea its long exultant flood 
On either’s coast ?  The rose has one same bud, 
And the vine’s heart one purple pledge doth yield. 
Are we not weary of the fangéd pen ? 
Are we not friends, and men ? 
Let us look frankly face to face—and quarrel then ! 
 
For by the groves of green and quiet ways, 
And on the windy reaches of the river, 
In moonlit night and blue unbroken days, 
And where the cold ice breaks in pallid bays, 
And where dim dawns in frosty forest shiver, 
Where India burns and far Australia glows, 
Where cactus blooms, where rose, 
Let our hearts’ beat be heard, to lighten many woes. 
 
Sister and daughter of our loyal isle, 
Our hands reach out to you, our lips are fain 
To wreathe with yours in one delicious smile 
Of budding love, to grow a kiss awhile, 
And laugh like bride and groom, and kiss again ! 
Let our alliance like a marriage stand, 
Supreme from strand to strand, 
The likeness of our love, the clasp of hand in hand.
 
11