Swift as the crumpled hood
Of the young poppy is smoothed to sudden flame
In some brief hour, ecstasy in full bud,
Unheralded, unknown, Love came.
Brief, brief as the short life
Of the paper-petalled Himalayan rose,
Whirled into nothingness on winds of strife,
Wept, prayed for, so Love goes.
The rose and the burning poppy's fold,
The Summer and all bright madness must depart,
Yet even loss has left some pollen gold
Of memory in my heart.
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 11 February 1930
