Will. H. Ogilvie Poems

My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones
   And strewn with the blind, white sand,
Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans
   On the breast of a lonely land.
...

I love you, wind o' the Autumn, that came from I know not where,
To lead me out of the toiling world to a ballroom fresh and fair,
Where the poplars tall and golden and the beeches rosy and red
Are setting to woodland partners and dancing the stars to bed!
...

Ho! You there, selling daffodils along the windy street,
Poor drooping, dusty daffodils -- but oh! so Summer sweet!
Green stems that stab with loveliness, rich petal-cups to hold
The wine of Spring to lips that cling like bees about their gold!
...

Last night I walked among the lamps that gleamed,
   And saw a shadow on a window blind,
A moving shadow; and the picture seemed
   To call some scene to mind.
...

Slowly she hobbles past the town, grown old at heart and gray;
With misty eyes she stumbles down along the well-known way;
She sees her maiden march unrolled by billabong and bend,
And every gum's a comrade old and every oak's a friend;
...

Opal, little opal, with the red fire glancing,
   Set my blood a-spinning, set my pulse a-stir,
Strike the harp of memory, set my dull heart dancing
   Southward to the Sunny Land and the love of Her!
...