The golden feet of the stars have bathed
In the scarlet foam of the tree
Which the wind has tossed from the silver keel
Of a boat of phantasy.
Dame Nature works with her coloured reels,
And the thread of the brightest runs
Out of the red, red heart of life,
And the core of a score of suns.
The gayest silks were unwound for this,
Where it trails against the wind;
'Tis an empty reel for the other trees
And the worker dazzled blind.
For the poinciana above the roofs
Of the grey and sleepy town
Is like a gipsy come to kirk
In a new vermillion gown.
The frowns of the godly move her not,
And their grim looks pass her by;
She carries the shield of the happy hills,
And the pride of the open sky.
Her tresses are bound in an orange snood,
And the murmur of the town
Is blent to fasten a summer song
To the green hem of a gown!
First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 21 January 1928
