The Poet by Myra Morris

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This do I say:
   I am a reed of Pan
Blown out of a blue day!
   Muted within the walls of man,
Where green gods throng,
   I play
My song!

The sun, the moon
   Find marvellous voice in me.
I pipe the lost wind's tune.
   My hollow stem doth hold a bee,
In me runs rife
   The rune
Of life!

A reed of Pan!
   A slender, shaken thing,
Made for so short a span!
   Yet the wild music that I sing
Shall linger on
   When man
Is gone!

First published in The Australian Woman's Mirror, 8 November 1927

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 8, 2014 7:10 AM.

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