July by Zora Cross

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July is like a lovely Spanish maid.
   Beneath the lemon-tree I saw her stand,
   Her arched foot poised; within her slender hand
The singing castanets with which she played.
Her grass-brown skirt was full, and, as she stayed,
   Robins flashed red across the yellow land;
   And all the willow boughs at her command
Changed into golden shawls their lace of jade.

She passed at dusk. I watched her turn and dance
   Among the violets, the while she drew
      My cold, reluctant soul into her dream,
Softly, seductive, of a Cid's romance...
    Now, from Night's skies of clear Castilian blue,
      Through lattices of stars her dark eyes gleam.

First published in The Bulletin, 27 July 1922

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of BiographyOld Qld Poetry

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on July 27, 2012 9:28 AM.

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