Rhymes Rudely Strung: Houses Archives

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The Builder by Zora Cross

By Perry Middlemiss on September 12, 2014 7:35 AM | No TrackBacks

I build my palaces of turkis bright

Agate and amber ivory and pearl,

I set them shining now where dim mists curl

And now upon a star a-bloom at night.

The turrets all are tinted diamond white,

Frail flags of thistledown from each unfurl,

And, while faint pipes a goblin-measure skirl,

In every hall I set a flower of light.

For I have seen dull fabrics of flats rise

And trimly dot the darling earth about

With prim realities through which Time screams

Unmoved. These may please tame prosaic eyes,

Without the benediction of a doubt,

But I shall keep my palaces of dreams.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 12 September 1935

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Old Qld Poetry

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The House with the Tiled Roof by Myra Morris

By Perry Middlemiss on February 13, 2014 7:30 AM | No TrackBacks

The house with tiles along its roof,

Has dragons crouching at the doors,

That upward gaze in mild reproof,

And parquetry verandah-floors.

Bright purple flames of flowers blaze

Across the whiteness of its walls,

And dappled little garden-ways

Are glimpsed from glassy, curtained halls.

Yet here I languish touched with pain,

A wandering spirit, lost, aloof,

Because I cannot hear the rain

Beating at night upon the roof.

Outside, the dark flows vague and wide,

The world in tingling storm is drowned;

Yet lapped in peace I lie inside

And hear no single breath of sound.

There was a tiny house I knew,

With roof of ugly, rusted tin,

And blackened chimneys all askew,

Where, dancing out, and dancing in,

The rain with dusty odors fraught,

Would croon a song of freshened things;

And I remember how it brought

Contentment on its silver wings.

On thinking back I sleep again

Beside the stirless billabong,

Hearing on tented roof the rain

Drum with a muffled litre song.

Hearing above the grieving sky,

Above the moaning of the sea,

The black swans flute as they owing by

Unto some bourne of mystery!

So wrapped in silence, rainsong-proof,

Rearing with pride each splendid room,

The house with tiles along he roof

Is nothing but a prison-tomb.

First published in The Bulletin, 13 February 1929

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

Recently in Houses Category

The Builder by Zora Cross

The House with the Tiled Roof by Myra Morris

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