They tell us yonder new-found star
That beams on mortal bowers,
It needed half ten thousand years
To reach this Earth of ours.
And yet -- O strange! -- it may by now
Be dead in ashes cold,
And quenched may be the tender ray
That tints our Night with gold.
And so, perchance, thy word may shine
What time thy life is o'er,
And send abroad a silver sign
To light a distant shore.
Ay, so, perchance, may proudly gleam,
When thou hast left this clime,
The mem'ry of thy noble deed
Adown the deeps of Time!
First published in The Bulletin, 17 February 1921
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
That beams on mortal bowers,
It needed half ten thousand years
To reach this Earth of ours.
And yet -- O strange! -- it may by now
Be dead in ashes cold,
And quenched may be the tender ray
That tints our Night with gold.
And so, perchance, thy word may shine
What time thy life is o'er,
And send abroad a silver sign
To light a distant shore.
Ay, so, perchance, may proudly gleam,
When thou hast left this clime,
The mem'ry of thy noble deed
Adown the deeps of Time!
First published in The Bulletin, 17 February 1921
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
