Lo, once thy loveliness a radiance shed,
The lustre of the stars was in thine eye,
An aureole of beauty o'er thy head,
Marked thee too beautiful a thing to die.
Silent and stiff, no breath of fragrance now
Wafteth its balm to lead me to my goal,
The silken hair that traileth o'er thy brow
A girdle was which bound me to thy soul.
Or so I dreamed -- thy voice so softly low;
The deepest fibres of my being stirred,
Falling in silver quivers from the bow
Of thy curved lips as a sweet harpsichord.
And when thy slender fingers touched the strings
In cadence sad or passionate lament,
In spirit I could feel the mystic wings
Of love which sanctified our sacrament.
The golden bowl is empty, and in vain
My burning tears on thy frail heart have shone;
Living, yet dead, thou art another's gain,
Thou whom it breaks my heart to look upon.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 24 March 1915;
and later in
Rustling Leaves: Selected Poems by Emily Coungeau, 1920.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
The lustre of the stars was in thine eye,
An aureole of beauty o'er thy head,
Marked thee too beautiful a thing to die.
Silent and stiff, no breath of fragrance now
Wafteth its balm to lead me to my goal,
The silken hair that traileth o'er thy brow
A girdle was which bound me to thy soul.
Or so I dreamed -- thy voice so softly low;
The deepest fibres of my being stirred,
Falling in silver quivers from the bow
Of thy curved lips as a sweet harpsichord.
And when thy slender fingers touched the strings
In cadence sad or passionate lament,
In spirit I could feel the mystic wings
Of love which sanctified our sacrament.
The golden bowl is empty, and in vain
My burning tears on thy frail heart have shone;
Living, yet dead, thou art another's gain,
Thou whom it breaks my heart to look upon.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 24 March 1915;
and later in
Rustling Leaves: Selected Poems by Emily Coungeau, 1920.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
