The grape bloom lies on the ridges
And the dusty gold is blown,
And a wavering cloud of midges
By the way that I walk -- alone.
Well, I gave you the Spring and the Summer,
But the Autumn is my own!
There's a blue haze over the mallee,
Where the fallowing acres lie;
There's a low mist down in the valley
And the sun gone low in the sky.
And Peace has measured her steps with me,
This many a day gone by.
I may dream of youth and the Spring-time,
And the wild sweet gladness flown;
I may grieve for love and the Summer lost
When the Winter's challenge is thrown,
But the calm of Heaven is round em now,
And the Autumn is my own!
First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 14 May 1929
