But not because of its magnificence Dear is the Casuarina to my soul : Beneath it we have played; though years may roll, O sweet companions, loved with love intense, For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear. Blent with your images, it shall arise In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes! What is that dirge-like murmur that I May Love defend thee from Oblivion's hear curse. William Sharp THE LAST ABORIGINAL I SEE him sit, wild-eyed, alone, From out his rigid fixed lips comes; Haggard as any wave-worn stone, The lofty ancient gum-trees stand, Each gray and ghostly in the moon, The giants of an old strange land That was exultant in its noon When all our Europe was o'erturned With deluge and with shifting sand, With earthquakes that the hills inurned And central fires that fused and burned. The moon moves slowly through the vast And solemn skies; the night is still, Save when a warrigal springs past With dismal howl, or when the shrill Scream of a parrot rings which feels A twining serpent's fangs fixed fast, Life is the shade that clouds her thought, Time seems but as a bitter thing Yet ah (she thinks) her song she'll sing Erstwhiles she bends alow to hear And then she smiles a strange sad smile And lets her harp lie long; The death-waves oft may rise the while, Few ever cross that dreary moor, FROM "SOSPIRI DI ROMA" SUSURRO BREATH o' the grass, From the cypress-bough, And the topmost spray The plain is a misty gloom : |