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IN THE ASHES
I found the cold grey ashes of a fire,
Which these two lit, whom Vengeance followed fast,
Although the dragging lawyer-vines were cast
To stay the following footsteps—Hate's desire,
Thirsty to fill with blood its brazen cup,
And drink the toast of "righteous murder" up!

I found the ashes that such memories keep:
Tall ironbarks were round them, scored of trunk,
And here and there a wan bush-flower, drunk
With sun and dew, and falling into sleep,
Yet murmuring nothing of the vows it heard,
Though its pale heart was redder by a word.

And overhead a bronzewing in the boughs
Rippled swift pinions, and a pink galah
Strutted in seeding grass, yet kept afar
From that grey ring that wed to Life's carouse
Pursuing Death. The blue smoke o'er the trees
Betrays no more the rendezvous of these.

With stirless leaves the ironbarks look down,
Yet they must know that never human tongue
Can tell of how those lovers kissed and clung,
And how grey eyes struck flame from eyes of brown;
At least they did not live to see Love pass
Into a sear of ashes on the grass.