To-day I opened a book,
In which in the long ago,
You and I used to read
You, whom I once loved so,
But we had forgotten it all,
Till out of the book, there fell
A faded posy of flowers!
Oh! You whom I once loved well,
Loved with a love that became
Faded, and lost, and dead:
How strange that those flowers keep,
Their scent and their living red!
First published in The Courier-Mail, 23 September 1933
