Zora Bernice May Cross (18 May 1890 – 22 January 1964 / Brisbane)
Dame Fortune’s jade with a fanciful horn
Of silver ambitions she warns of the flame;
With pearls for the princes and tears night and morn
For poor little poets who fluttered for fame,
Who smile when she sings as she dances along;
"Come; woo me with courage and delicate song."
I followed her once, but she wearied me soon.
All careless was I of her roseate quest.
I built a dream house, while the stars were in tune,
And slipped into silence and exquisite rest.
But she, like her sex, when my passion seemed cold,
Ran hither and offered me all of her gold.
I went to the door, and I looked at her ware
Of agate and amber and cool crysolite;
I shook my wise head with a holiday air,
And bade her good-day in a daring delight
For I am a fool, and my fortune is made;
I care not a fig for a crown or a spade;
I dwell with the elves ‘neath the odorous sky;
The dews of the dawn brush my gables with glee;
And moonlights and sunlights and lovers pass by
All humming this song as they peep upon me:
"Heigh-ho! For the fool who can pity all pelf,
And finds in his bliss that his fortune’s himself."
Comments about this poem (Fortune by Zora Bernice May Cross )
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