The Spinster by Kathleen Dalziel

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I dreamed me of a little home
   All set about with apple-trees;
Bees, and the honey on the comb.
   And blackbirds' harmonies.

I dreamed me that at eventide
   So red the homely hearth would glow
On snowy cloth, and wifely pride
   Of dishes all a-row;

That little feet would pass the door,
   And love would weave a circling band
To keep our happiness secure
   As any in the land ...

Alas! for hopes of brittle glass,
   For love's clear wine like water spilt,
The orchard close came not to pass,
   The house was never built.

Now life has passed me by, it seems,
   And I am growing, growing old.
How scant is my poor cloak of dreams
   Against the Winter cold!

First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 2 August 1927

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on August 2, 2014 11:01 AM.

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