by Llywelyn Lucas
The air at sweet Taringa
Is like Taringa's name,
Clanging and sweet and streaming forth
In a blue morning flame;
The great hills of Mount Coot-tha
So gloriously steep
And the valleys that they mother
Distil it in their sleep.
It dissipates like dreaming,
It uplifts like a cloud,
It sets the people walking
With step remote and proud.
The air at sweet Taringa
Is like Taringa's name,
Clanging and sweet and streaming forth
In a blue morning flame!
Llywelyn Lucas: Brisbane Courier, 9 February, 1929, p 22