– 51 –

Spring South-Wester

Coming back to life this morning,
I hear chastising rain-tornadoes
Racing north from icy kingdoms,
Lashing eucalyptus twigs for whipthongs,
Dashing the young tender verdure
Of roses on their own thorn-armature,
Torn and pierced in shouting fury;
But, laced upon the fierce confusion,
Sweet, sweet, eclipsing tempest,
Matin bird-song’s fluted descant.…
  (Night, night, all thy storms have broken over me,
  Yet is thy music, life, unsilenced, oh! and lovelier.)