The Unborn Dead by Zora Cross

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Her hands were slim as lilies white, 
And in her eyes an emerald light 
Continually burned still fire.
Her fingers moved along a lyre, 
As delicate as lilac leaves.
She was the soul that in me grieves 
The woman I shall one day be,
Love-lorn beside a phantom sea. 

O unborn woman, writing here
The lines you'll read in a new year, 
Look up, remember me again, 
And all my pity, all my pain,
My loves, my hopes, my woman-tears, 
That shall pursue you down the years.

First published in The Australasian, 30 December 1922

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on December 30, 2014 9:26 AM.

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