Poems (Storrie)/Sydney in July
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Sydney in July.
The clouds have wept their great hearts out,
The westerly is dead,
Each night the world's wide hearthstone glows
With embers, grey and red;
The sun, abashed, rides proud and high
Nor tries his wooing ways to try
On Sydney in July.
The westerly is dead,
Each night the world's wide hearthstone glows
With embers, grey and red;
The sun, abashed, rides proud and high
Nor tries his wooing ways to try
On Sydney in July.
A cold, salt air sweeps through the Heads
Along the waterways,
And shores and ships and quays are wrapped
In soft grey blotting haze.
A breath of violets mingles with the fumes
Of she-oak logs that glow in curtained rooms.
Dreams softly fly
On velvet wings in Sydney in July.
Along the waterways,
And shores and ships and quays are wrapped
In soft grey blotting haze.
A breath of violets mingles with the fumes
Of she-oak logs that glow in curtained rooms.
Dreams softly fly
On velvet wings in Sydney in July.