My love is the rosy-fingered dawn,
Which heralds the birth of the fragrant morn,
And beareth a chalice which sheddeth showers
Of crystal dew o'er the dreaming flowers.
My love is the king with the torch of gold,
Whose flambent rays doth dear earth enfold,
Who kissed the amorous, waiting west,
And gildeth a path o'er the ocean's breast.
My love is that queenly vision meek,
With pale fires quenched, and a paler cheek,
Who walketh so softly and regal, yet sad,
But who wreathed in such beauty doth make me glad.
My love is that temple with dome so blue,
Where those gleaming jewels the stars peep through,
With the swinging earth a cushion where we
May behold the celestial pageantry.
My love is life's music-the deep rich chords
Hath the soul for a reed, though it breathe no words,
Like a string of gems in a holy shrine,
And each gem a pure note on a lute divine.
Oh, love! Life's song which is sweetest flows
To the stately measure the dreamer knows,
With a thrilling cadenza in mortal ears.
Where life's song endeth there are no tears.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 13 May 1914;
and later in
Rustling Leaves: Selected Poems by Emily Coungeau, 1920.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
Which heralds the birth of the fragrant morn,
And beareth a chalice which sheddeth showers
Of crystal dew o'er the dreaming flowers.
My love is the king with the torch of gold,
Whose flambent rays doth dear earth enfold,
Who kissed the amorous, waiting west,
And gildeth a path o'er the ocean's breast.
My love is that queenly vision meek,
With pale fires quenched, and a paler cheek,
Who walketh so softly and regal, yet sad,
But who wreathed in such beauty doth make me glad.
My love is that temple with dome so blue,
Where those gleaming jewels the stars peep through,
With the swinging earth a cushion where we
May behold the celestial pageantry.
My love is life's music-the deep rich chords
Hath the soul for a reed, though it breathe no words,
Like a string of gems in a holy shrine,
And each gem a pure note on a lute divine.
Oh, love! Life's song which is sweetest flows
To the stately measure the dreamer knows,
With a thrilling cadenza in mortal ears.
Where life's song endeth there are no tears.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 13 May 1914;
and later in
Rustling Leaves: Selected Poems by Emily Coungeau, 1920.
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
