The dark pines climbing up the hill
With measured footsteps, never turning,
Are like black nuns, with faces dim
Against the sunset's yellow rim,
Where altar-lamps are burning.
The dark pines climbing one by one
Into some place enchanted
Are like thin, haggard ghosts that go
Down into dark no man may know,
With weary mien, undaunted.
The dark pines wild against the sky,
With restless arms a-swaying,
Are whispering, whispering far away --
And oh, I know, I know they say
Just what my heart is saying!
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 8 March 1927
