A moon of gold
In mists of sky!
Across its face,
Swans drifting by,
Far-fluting where the forest weaves
An arabesque of inky leaves!
A plover's call!
The lake's long sigh!
A moon of gold --
And you and I!
A moon of gold,
And ferns piled high!
From shadowy brake -
A peeping cry!
The night wind blowing near and near,
Spilling soft sounds too small to hear!
And in the close
Dark you and I,
Telling our dreams
Too grand to die!
When I am old
(Yea, even I!)
I shall hark back,
And in some sky
See once again that round gold moon --
Hear echoing still the swans' wild tune...
But who was this
That looked so high?
Who dreamed those dreams?
Oh, was it I?
First published in The Australasian, 27 September 1924
