How many years we might live, yet have missed
The meaning of October! O ye trees
All yellow blossom, and the amethyst
Of jacarandas bowing to the breeze!
A hundred years one might live, keen to see
And taste the beauty of recurring years,
Yet only touch the edge of mystery
And only guess the rhythm of the spheres!
How short a time we have to watch you
(Dear blossomy of Spring!) and fruit and die --
But dreams can follow wheresoe'er you go,
And Fancy is as wide as any sky!
So we shall keep you safe, October gold,
Touching with memory purple, blue and red.
A human heart has room enough to hold
A living flower when the bloom is dead!
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 11 October 1927
