I keep for you no wasteful grief,
No withered memory;
Only a little faded leaf
From love's unfruitful tree.
For you no chilling season clouds
The summer of my years.
So much my time joy overcrowds,
I've little left for tears.
When wistful ghosts might rise and weep,
And make, most bitter moan
Over the wounds that were so deep,
Because you were my own.
All this I tell myself, but when
Some lonely midnight bears
The very torch of truth, ah! then,
Illusion disappears.
And, foolish to the last, it seems,
Old kindness I'll renew,
Rebuilding all my broken dreams
Into a shrine for you.
First published in The Brisbane Courier, 2 March 1929
