Potted Flowers with Books IV Eric Barjot Australia Last sea-thing dredged by sailor Time from Space, Are you a drift Sargasso, where the West In halcyon calm rebuilds her fatal nest? Or Delos of a coming Sun-God's race? Are you for Light, and trimmed, with oil in place, A new demesne for Mammon to infest? Or lurks millennial Eden 'neath your face? The cenotaphs of species dead elsewhere That in your limits leap and swim and fly, Or trail uncanny harp-strings from your trees, Mix omens with the auguries that dare To plant the Cross upon your forehead sky, A virgin helpmate Ocean at your knees. Bernard O'Dowd (11th April 1866 - 1st September 1953) |
Thursday 31 July 2014
The Thursday Poem
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