[Editor: This poem by Agnes L. Storrie was published in Poems, 1909.]
Childish Intuition.
I heard one tell of travels far and wide
Of thrilling dangers, with a mounting pride
Of bold remembered feats, of deserts drear
Crossed by the hardy steps of pioneer
Of buzzing arrows, and the answering crack
Of rifles down the narrow mountain track
Of tropic rivers forded, treasure won,
A hundred reckless deeds of daring done,
Yet — in the midst of tales that blanche the cheek
And tangle all the pulses, when there came
A patter in the passage, and the weak
Assault of arms upon the door, the same
Bold hand that slew and spared not felt the balm
Of baby fingers nestling in its palm.
Source:
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, page 252
Editor’s notes:
blanche = to make pale or whiten; to take the colour out of something
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