The wind leaped up from the sea, strong voiced and exultant.
Tearing the pride of the blossom to tatters of pearl,
And the white gulls are scattered like petals about, and to windward
The grey ribboned wrack wreaths unfurl.
Crazing the she-oaks again with its aeons old malice,
Spurring the waves on their useless and passionate quest,
Till, like a thousand pale roses slow fading and fallen,
Day withers away in the west.
Over the darkness a silvery pallor already
Tinging the tops of the waters, where veiled and in vain,
Over the sea wall, white shapes leap up through the unsteady
Flurry of wandering rain.
Round, red, and wonderful, over the tumbling riot,
Rises the moon, in the mist of her vapours entwined,
And night's dusky realm is suddenly rocked into quiet
With the low fallen hush of the wind.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 7 December 1929
