Robert Atkinson

(2 February 1881 – 6 February 1961 / Victoria / Australia)

The Awakening

EACH hour that passes, dead for evermore,
Lies in the waste of ages whence the stale
Air of unwoken silence, shore to shore.
Reeks unto death, and where far plains grow pale,
Fumes in a light mirage whose azure floor

Floats dream-born, burnished citadel and sail! . .

And I can hear the very silence wail

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