Hushed in the quiet evening, and the earth lies listening,
Hearing the first faint urge that ushers forth the southern spring.
Softer and sweeter grow the cloudy airs at west's green gate,
And through the light a lovely promise stirs "She'll not be late."
In the high boughs, above the budding clover, out in the cold,
I heard a thrush courageous trying over his notes of gold.
And the wind-bent company of wattle trees fling out abroad
Beneath the fugitive stars the fragrant keys of memory's hoard.
There is a poem unwritten, a song unsung, and a prayer unsaid,
And music all unheard, sweet bells unswing above and overhead.
Hushed in the quiet eve, the low winds sough and the light boughs sway,
And the waiting earth whispers: "She is not now so very far away."
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 12 October 1929
Author reference sites: Austlit
See also.
Hearing the first faint urge that ushers forth the southern spring.
Softer and sweeter grow the cloudy airs at west's green gate,
And through the light a lovely promise stirs "She'll not be late."
In the high boughs, above the budding clover, out in the cold,
I heard a thrush courageous trying over his notes of gold.
And the wind-bent company of wattle trees fling out abroad
Beneath the fugitive stars the fragrant keys of memory's hoard.
There is a poem unwritten, a song unsung, and a prayer unsaid,
And music all unheard, sweet bells unswing above and overhead.
Hushed in the quiet eve, the low winds sough and the light boughs sway,
And the waiting earth whispers: "She is not now so very far away."
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 12 October 1929
Author reference sites: Austlit
See also.
