Sanctuary by Myra Morris

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Beneath the grinning sky, there is no spot,
   With silences enough to shroud my pain;
   Old voices leap again and yet again; 
From out the golden years when grief was not.
I shrink from eyes that question red and hot,
   Eyes mock me from the wind and slanting rain;
   Gone all the sombre peace of stretching plain,
And sea! Ah Christ! I loved and am forgot!

Yet, still there are shut doors I dimly know,
Whose well-thumbed lintels hold each trembling touch!
Within my hand alone there lies the key
To ope me these! One turn and I shall go
Triumphant, freed, not fearing overmuch,
Into the dark of Death's grim Sanctuary.

First published in The Lone Hand, 1 June 1920

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on June 1, 2014 7:38 AM.

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