A poet sings of the Flower of Love,
And the Worth of a Woman's Heart
(But the red rose fades from the cheek of his wife,
As she walks in her life apart).
He dreams of the maidens of old Romance,
With their siren-like eyes aglow,
But she of the commonplace man and kind
Who courted her long ago.
An artist paints us girl faces fair,
Unmarred by a line severe
(But worn and lined is the face of the wife
Who pledged him her love last year.)
She's bearing the burdens that two should bear;
Her life is a study in grey
(Which might not have been had she wedded instead
The commonplace man of clay).
Oh! poets may chant us their lordly lays
Of love that can ne'er take wing
(But the usual men called Brown and Jones
Are living the songs they sing).
The artist may tell us the life of toil
Is ever the life sublime
(But the commonplace characters nobody knows
Are acting it all the time).
First published in The Australian Town and Country Journal, 9 December 1903
And the Worth of a Woman's Heart
(But the red rose fades from the cheek of his wife,
As she walks in her life apart).
He dreams of the maidens of old Romance,
With their siren-like eyes aglow,
But she of the commonplace man and kind
Who courted her long ago.
An artist paints us girl faces fair,
Unmarred by a line severe
(But worn and lined is the face of the wife
Who pledged him her love last year.)
She's bearing the burdens that two should bear;
Her life is a study in grey
(Which might not have been had she wedded instead
The commonplace man of clay).
Oh! poets may chant us their lordly lays
Of love that can ne'er take wing
(But the usual men called Brown and Jones
Are living the songs they sing).
The artist may tell us the life of toil
Is ever the life sublime
(But the commonplace characters nobody knows
Are acting it all the time).
First published in The Australian Town and Country Journal, 9 December 1903
