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With his kindred, big and small,
‘Mong the gum trees, low ,and tall,
Where the nectar-cups are sweeter,
Fares the Regent Honey-eater,
Now with twists, as spins a ball,
Now a prank,
Oft on boughs and blooms asprawl,
Whence is heard his ringing call,
Clink, clank!
Rev’llers in the festival
Of sweet flowers that never pall,
Know him as a saucy fellow;
In his sheeny black and yellow,
He’s the handsomest of all;
And by the bank
Of limpid creek and waterfall,
Oft is heard his ringing call,
Clink, clank!
Flashing by a scrubby wall,
“The Flying Coachman’s” overall,
Sun-kissed, shows a golden glory
That hints of a fairy story,
And that holds young hearts in thrall;
And dry or dank,
Be his spacious woodland hall,
Always welcome is the call.
Clink, clank!
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