Come to the corner and smell the leaves!
The gold is thick on the ground;
The white trees in a mist of wonder,
Deep in the gold they have shaken under --
Hark! not a sound, not a sound!
Come to the corner and smell the leaves,
And toss them up in your hair!
Never a smoky censer swinging
Gave such incense, rich and clinging,
Out on the purple air!
Back to the house and back to the fire,
I'll sit with my chin in my hand --
And smell all night with a grand completeness
Drifts of the dead leaves' bitter-sweetness,
And watch how the white trees stand!
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 16 August 1927
