The Olive Tree by Ivy Moore

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A Grecian line of beauty dwells
   Within the slender olive tree;
Its grace a dryad's form excels,
   So lithe and silvery and free.
The rhythmic murmur of the wind,
   Stirs music from the argent leaves;
Whilst the wild birds, undisciplined,
   Have built their nests beneath the eaves.
Neath such a tree Ulysses slept,
   Artemis sped at break of day;
The timid Daphne hid and wept,
   Within its sheltering branches gray.
Alone by day, when moonlight shines,
   To light the dark of night's domain;
Comes, with his forehead crowned with vines,
   The old god Pan, to pipes' refrain.
Then on the carpet of green moss,
   They dance in joy from night till morn;
And nymphs and satyrs lightly toss
   Ripe olives from the branches torn!  

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 23 November 1935;
and later in
Australian Violets by Ivy Moore, 1937.

Author reference sites: Austlit

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 23, 2011 7:00 AM.

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