Slowly into the purple cup of Night
Dusk pours the amber wine of daily prayer,
And, as its fragrance scents these pools of light,
The opal sea-buds blossom everywhere.
Soon, from her palms of fire, the young moon shakes
Pale rainbow jewels on the wet, brown sand,
While some chaste nymph her bath of sea-foam takes
Where jade and green the round waves plunge to land.
Then drowsy Night her storied mantle lifts,
As some red star-dirk slits the velvet fold,
Which, falling where the sea-foam slowly drifts,
Lights her quick corpse in eddies of pure gold.
First published in The Australasian, 10 June 1916
