Red as old walls that hide dim gardens, where
The mists seem tethered on the morning air,
And the hot gold of autumn sunshine burns
In tempered glory down grey ivied urns,
And slips to blunt among the grassy caves
The noontide sharpness of its glittering glaives.
Red as the slender shoes a dark coquette
Fits to her long, arched foot, a brilliant set
Below the silken instep's veiled rose,
A some lit lantern in the twilight glows,
You flicker thro' my fancy's secret bowers,
Like jewelled hands above ungathered flowers!
First published in The Australasian, 27 July 1918
