I lay a-dream in Byron Bay
And felt a voice to sigh and say:
'Get up, get up,
There’s much to be done,
And more to be seen, to be worked at and won.'
Her eyes were sparkling pools of gold
Her hair a glittering tale, untold,
'Get up, get on, '
She seemed to say,
But whispered her wisdom and wishes away
'Don’t lie in an idle content, replete,
Be stirring your imagery, stirring your feet,
Get on, get out
And conjure the ebb
Of a moonbeam laced with a spider’s web.'
I smiled to notice the voice so fine
A bubbling nectar, a sparkling wine,
'Be still, desist,
I taste the content
Of an April dawn the creator lent.'
'Conjure me flowers a yard across
And gossamer flights of the Albatross,
Awake, look out,
The faerie spell,
Adrift in the midst of a wishing well.'
'How could I conjure a looking-glass
A poet is merely a man, alas? '
'Just turn, and see
In mortal guise
The enchanted dawn through a faerie’s eyes.'
I looked around for the barest glimpse
Of a sight seen neither before, nor since;
'Be soft, be still
I dream all day
Of my Faerie Queene of Byron Bay.'
16 October 1972