168
The Grove of Wattles.
The clamour of the city ringing loud
Submerged the hurrying footsteps of the crowd,
The teeming ways were all awash with faces,
Hopes and despair's peopled the narrow spaces,
And I among them, on myself intent,
Scant notice on my fellow creatures bent,
When, as I passed beneath the shadow of the towers
Rose an incredible mirage of flowers!
My sacred past, reborn in shimmering yellow
Offered for pence, by some rude pavement fellow.
Flowers that for years my heart had never sighted
Shone there, like golden tapers freshly lighted,
And as the tide of aching memories swept
On that full fragrance borne, I almost think I wept.
Submerged the hurrying footsteps of the crowd,
The teeming ways were all awash with faces,
Hopes and despair's peopled the narrow spaces,
And I among them, on myself intent,
Scant notice on my fellow creatures bent,
When, as I passed beneath the shadow of the towers
Rose an incredible mirage of flowers!
My sacred past, reborn in shimmering yellow
Offered for pence, by some rude pavement fellow.
Flowers that for years my heart had never sighted
Shone there, like golden tapers freshly lighted,
And as the tide of aching memories swept
On that full fragrance borne, I almost think I wept.
There was the grove of wattles, thickly sown
In a large pattern of its own,
1 Manned subtly, as the custom is of trees
To catch the mingled sunshine and the breeze,
And full beneficence of dew, and here,
Wrought like a finer gold upon the sheer
Effulgence of the sunlight, rose a fume
Of wattle sweets, part fragrance, and part bloom,
And part my love of them, that bursting through
The limits of the senses made a new
In a large pattern of its own,
1 Manned subtly, as the custom is of trees
To catch the mingled sunshine and the breeze,
And full beneficence of dew, and here,
Wrought like a finer gold upon the sheer
Effulgence of the sunlight, rose a fume
Of wattle sweets, part fragrance, and part bloom,
And part my love of them, that bursting through
The limits of the senses made a new
