The Plains by L. H. Allen

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The plains are silver!
The sky is white, and the fruit-blossoms are white,
Shaking and shining in sun, an eddying haze.
The air hangs round them like unseen bees.
It rises from them laden and faint,
Beating its wings towards the mountains,
Settling on lips and nostrils.

The plains are gold!
The orange-trees waver in autumn haze.
The fruitage bursts through the green line gold,
Or in the milder light dims and swells
Like great topazes moon-enchanted.
In the wind they are flames;
The stillness veils them in quivering smoke;
In the dusk they are vaporous echoes.

The plains are blue!
Beneath dawn, amethystine,
A runnel of lucerne-flowers;
Or, in the night-stillness of winter,
A mirror of heaven-calm,
Making flat earth an infinity
Where love creates rarer than heavenly stars.

First published
in The Sydney Morning Herald, 29 December 1928

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on December 29, 2011 6:56 AM.

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