The jewel house is painted green,
Its curtains are of amber sheen,
With Eastern rugs and polished floors,
And carved bronze handles on the doors.
The rooms are swept with gentle light,
The walls are picture-hung and bright,
While through an open window blows
Scent of violet and rose.
I see the table trimly set
With bowls of fragrant mignonette,
Blue-handled cups, the coffee's steam,
The butter's gold, the honey's gleam;
And afterwards -- an hour that brings
The clash of chords, the throb of strings:
Slim hands that weave with strange romance
Scherzo, fugue and Eastern dance.
The night is swept with wind and rain,
But in my heart I see again
The jewel house with walls of green
And curtains wrought from amber sheen;
While through each open window blows
Memory sweeter than the rose.
First published in The Bulletin, 15 June 1922
Author reference sites: Austlit, Old Qld Poetry
See also.
Its curtains are of amber sheen,
With Eastern rugs and polished floors,
And carved bronze handles on the doors.
The rooms are swept with gentle light,
The walls are picture-hung and bright,
While through an open window blows
Scent of violet and rose.
I see the table trimly set
With bowls of fragrant mignonette,
Blue-handled cups, the coffee's steam,
The butter's gold, the honey's gleam;
And afterwards -- an hour that brings
The clash of chords, the throb of strings:
Slim hands that weave with strange romance
Scherzo, fugue and Eastern dance.
The night is swept with wind and rain,
But in my heart I see again
The jewel house with walls of green
And curtains wrought from amber sheen;
While through each open window blows
Memory sweeter than the rose.
First published in The Bulletin, 15 June 1922
Author reference sites: Austlit, Old Qld Poetry
See also.
