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An Apology by Myra Morris

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Dear, if I did not have these precious things
Gold-misted dreams and white imaginings --
My heart had never known the need of wings.

I should be touched with peace, content to stay,
Living my little life from day to day,
With feet not questing for the far-away.

But I should never feel my heart beat fast 
To see white-billowing clouds go sailing past
A robin's breast, a rose, a leaning mast.

I should not weep with foolish joy, and thrill
To watch the dark pines crown the lonely hill,
The wintry trees stand ashen-pale and still.

I should not fill that hidden heart of me
With people as I picture them to be,
And weep when these are vanished, secretly.

Dear, this is I - a mass of futile things,
Of golden dreams and white imaginings,     
Yet I would lose all else, and keep my wings!

First published in The Australasian, 16 July 1927

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

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