Great Australian Authors #33 - Roderic Quinn


Roderic Quinn (1867 - 1949)

The night-long clamour of winds grew still;
   The forest rested, its foes withdrawn;
On sounding ocean and silent hill
   There crept a sense of the coming dawn.

A bird awoke on a leaning limb
   And fluttered its plumes a moment's space;
Dark purple lay on the sea's far rim:
   The sky grew pale as a dying face.

Then all the trees and the rocks and heights
   With wondering faces watched the East;
It seemed an altar hung with lights
   And waiting for a vestured priest.

And in that intimate first hour
   When land and sea rejoiced as one,
And Nature, like an opening flower,
   Gave incense, came the burning sun.

Yet, while the hour of gold went by,
   I saw through all its pageantry
The vast indifference of the sky,
   The heartless beauty of the sea.

For wet and wan, and cold and sped
   Beyond the breakers' reach of pearl,
There lay a strong man drowned and dead,
   And in his arms a drowned white girl.

At Dawn by Roderic Quinn

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 16, 2006 9:23 AM.

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