SHE glanced across the path to me,
Her looks were kisses plain to see.
I gave her glances back to her—
“AND have I changed?” she asked, and as she spoke
The old smile o'er her pale face bravely broke,
And in her eyes dead worlds of pathos woke.
Changed? When I knew again the ghost of each
ALONE with the silence, the sun and sky,
Full length on the tussocky plain I lie:
An ocean of yellow from east to west
Still rolling and sweeping, far crest on crest;
There are only two things in the world—
The storm in the air and the stretch of green leaves;
The flesh of the forest that quivers and heaves
As the blast on its bosom is hurled.
A LONE rose in a garden burned—a quivering flame,
But yesterday blindly from out the bud it came;
And now an envious wind with itching fingers leant
And touched its lingering beauty, and the petals went
AS some faint wisp of fragrance, floating wide—
A pennant-perfume on the evening air—
From a walled garden, flower-filled and fair,
To drape a sudden beauty long denied
SO with this farewell kiss I taste at last
The all of life; the Future and the Past
Upon your dear lips dwell.
Love will not come again, though I implore;
Far in the Eastern passage-way a sudden light;
The stone that blocked the sepulchre is backward rolled;
And down into the fœtid, stifling vault of Night
The naked corpse of Dawn is lowered, grey and cold.
They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places,
In sombre bush or wind-swept tussock spaces,
Where seldom human tread
And never human trace is