I sowed the desert with my tears,
Some hidden good was in it,
For at my feet a garden sprang,
Full-blossomed in a minute.
The great magnolia’s creamy cups
Poured forth their passion fumes,
And ruddily — above the grass —
Shone tall carnation blooms.
A lily, with an eastern look,
Lighted her silver flame,
And purely, like our better thoughts,
White clover blossoms came.
So drear a place! so sad a rain!
Yet such sweet harvest granted,
When seeds of beauty lie thus hid,
Whose was the hand that planted?
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, pages 74-75