The
camp-fire gleams resistance
To
every twinkling star:
The
horse-bells, in the distance
Are
jangling faint and far:
Through
gum-boughs lorn and lonely
The
passing breezes sigh:
In
all the world are only
My
star-crowned Love and I.
The
still night wraps Macquarie;
The
white moon, drifting slow,
Takes
back her silver glory
From
the watching waves below;
To
dalliance I give over
Though
half the world may chide,
And
clasp my one true Lover
Here
on Macquarie side.
The
loves of earth grow olden
Or
kneel at some new shrine;
Her
locks are always golden---
This
brave Bush-Love of mine;
And
for her starlit beauty
And
for her dawns dew-pearled,
Her
name in love and duty
I
guard against the world.
They
curse her desert places!
How
can they understand
Who
know not what her face is
And
never held her hand?---
Who
may have heard the meeting
Of
boughs the wind has stirred,
Yet
missed the whispered greeting
Our
listening hearts have heard.
For
some have travelled over
The
long miles at her side,
Yet
claimed her not as Lover
Nor
thought of her as bride:
And
some have followed after
Through
sun and mist for years,
Nor
held the sunshine laughter,
Nor
guessed the raindrops tears.
*
* *
And
if her droughts are bitter,
Her
dancing mirage vain---
Are
all things gold that glitter?
What
pleasure but hath pain?
And
since among Love's blisses
Love's
penalties must live
Shall
we not take her kisses,
And,
taking them, forgive?
The
winds of dawn are roving
The
river-oaks astir...
What
hearts were lorn of loving
That
had no Love but her?
Till
last red stars are lighted
And
last winds wander West,
Her
troth and mine are plighted---
Will H. Ogilvie, 21.8.1869 (Scotland) to 1963