There’s a ripple on the sapphire seas far in the dreaming west
Where the palpitating sun-heart has so lately burned and pressed,
And the silver-winged wind-maidens, they are talking in their sleep;
And from out their tresses’ shimmering folds their gleaming shoulders peep.
Sleep, wind-maidens ! Murmur drowsily,
For swiftly through the westward ways my dream-ship comes to me.
There’s a purple space of silence where the golden star-eyes shine,
And like lovers deeply dutiful, they kneel in gallant line,
And with fiery fingers spangle evening’s trailing primrose gown
Till she bids them rise up knighted by her shadow-sword and crown.
Watch, true lovers! with your golden eyes,
And guide and guard my dream-ship as she swiftly homeward flies.
There’s a tender tone of music waking somewhere in the world,
And upon its fairy cadences my soul is lightly whirled;
But a passion of impatience flashes through me like a fire,
And thrills me like the wooing winds that kiss a waiting lyre.
Sing, glad lyre! Waiting days are past,
For in the harbour of my heart my dream-ship lies at last.
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, pages 87-88