Resurrections by Mabel Forrest

| No TrackBacks
When the white roses die, they make a cloud,
Threading the wind with fragrance pure and sweet,
When the pink roses die, they trail the sun,
And faint in carmine wreaths about his feet;
But where the pansies huddle from the light
They merge in death, into the purple night,
Filched from the sun of some high summer's noon,
Their hearts have left us many a yellow moon.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 17 October 1931

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL:

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on October 17, 2014 7:37 AM.

The Voices by Kathleen Dalziel was the previous entry in this blog.

In a Garden by Zora Cross is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.


Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en