Page:Not understood - and other poems (IA notunderstoodoth00braciala).pdf/32

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PAX VOBISCUM.

 

IN a forest far away,
One small creeklet, day by day,
Murmurs only this sad lay:
        “Peace be with thee, Lilian.”

One old box-tree bends his head,
One broad wattle shades her bed,
One lone magpie mourns the dead:
        “Peace be with thee, Lilian.”

Echoes come on every breeze,
Sighing through the ancient trees,
Whisp’ring in their melodies:
        “Peace be with thee, Lilian.”

Mellow sunbeams, morn and eve,
Quick to come and slow to leave,
Kiss the quilt where daisies weave
        Rich designs o’er Lilian.

When the dying blossoms cling
To the skirts of passing Spring,
Wattle-boughs and branches fling
        Showers of gold o’er Lilian.

When the Summer moon mounts high,
Queen of all the speckless sky,
Shafts of silver softly lie
        O’er the grave of Lilian.