It cometh in my dreams that long ago,
When all the world seemed bathed in golden light,
And when you told me that you loved me so
The hours were burnished suns, there was no night,
So long ago.
Thy voice alone could calm my latent fears,
And thou alone my every thought expressed.
Thy presence stayed my unrestrained tears,
Thy soft arms held me close against thy breast,
So long ago.
Thy dear lips spoke the tender words so sweet,
It was thy hand which sought to guide the way
Along life's road, and set my faltering feet
Upon the narrow path which leads to day,
So long ago.
So long ago; I see thee, heart of gold,
Just as of yore, thou pure, fair spirit, yet
Though o'er thy grave the flowers their buds unfold;
I mourn thee still with passionate regret.
For long ago.
It cometh in my dreams, that olden grace,
And, grave, sweet look, but lo, upon thy brow
A soft light shines. And, Oh: thy gentle face
Presses my tearful one as closely now
As long ago.
Dear eyes which shimered in a silver mist,
I see them now as when I saw them last,
Smiling on me, ere Death had softly kissed
And sealed them, but to open in Heaven at last
As long ago.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 7 January 1914;
and later in
Rustling Leaves: Selected Poems by Emily Coungeau, 1920.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
When all the world seemed bathed in golden light,
And when you told me that you loved me so
The hours were burnished suns, there was no night,
So long ago.
Thy voice alone could calm my latent fears,
And thou alone my every thought expressed.
Thy presence stayed my unrestrained tears,
Thy soft arms held me close against thy breast,
So long ago.
Thy dear lips spoke the tender words so sweet,
It was thy hand which sought to guide the way
Along life's road, and set my faltering feet
Upon the narrow path which leads to day,
So long ago.
So long ago; I see thee, heart of gold,
Just as of yore, thou pure, fair spirit, yet
Though o'er thy grave the flowers their buds unfold;
I mourn thee still with passionate regret.
For long ago.
It cometh in my dreams, that olden grace,
And, grave, sweet look, but lo, upon thy brow
A soft light shines. And, Oh: thy gentle face
Presses my tearful one as closely now
As long ago.
Dear eyes which shimered in a silver mist,
I see them now as when I saw them last,
Smiling on me, ere Death had softly kissed
And sealed them, but to open in Heaven at last
As long ago.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 7 January 1914;
and later in
Rustling Leaves: Selected Poems by Emily Coungeau, 1920.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
