An Anthology of Australian Verse/Romance
ROMANCE
Of old, on her terrace at evening
. . .not here. . .in some long-gone kingdom
O, folded close to her breast!. . .
. . .not here. . .in some long-gone kingdom
O, folded close to her breast!. . .
—our gaze dwelt wide on the blackness
(was it trees? or a shadowy passion
the pain of an old-world longing
that it sobb’d, that it swell’d, that it shrank?)
—the gloom of the forest
blurr’d soft on the skirt of the night-skies
that shut in our lonely world.
(was it trees? or a shadowy passion
the pain of an old-world longing
that it sobb’d, that it swell’d, that it shrank?)
—the gloom of the forest
blurr’d soft on the skirt of the night-skies
that shut in our lonely world.
. . .not here. . .in some long-gone world. . .
close-lock’d in that passionate arm-clasp
no word did we utter, we stirr’d not:
the silence of Death, or of Love. . .
only, round and over us
that tearless infinite yearning
and the Night with her spread wings rustling
folding us with the stars.
no word did we utter, we stirr’d not:
the silence of Death, or of Love. . .
only, round and over us
that tearless infinite yearning
and the Night with her spread wings rustling
folding us with the stars.
. . .not here. . .in some long-gone kingdom
of old, on her terrace at evening
O, folded close to her heart!. . .
of old, on her terrace at evening
O, folded close to her heart!. . .