[Editor: This poem by Philip Durham Lorimer was published in Songs and Verses by Philip Durham Lorimer: An Australian Bush Poet, 1901.]
Think not the less of me, though yet unspoken
Is that true love I fondly bear to thee ;
Thou art so happy, that I shrink from hoping
That thou wouldst ever dream of loving me !
To link thy lot with mine, would be to sever
Thy golden intercourse with Heaven’s throng ;
To dwell with me — too much to even hope for :
Enough I hear and love thy voice of song.
To ask thee for thy heart — no, I will linger !
I love thee still in all thy perfect bliss ;
I love thee in the shrine of love so secret
There I can give thy name my chastest kiss.
Thine every act I ever dwell on fondly ;
For thy simplicity is all divine.
Long as my pulses run, I dare not venture
To let one throb of pain come forth from thine.
Mourn not the loss of me — my hours are happy,
As now in life they watch thy hallowed lot ;
Man’s love can still be great, though all unspoken
Its fond devotedness which slumbers not.
Caigan, Castlereagh River , April 17, 1890.
E. A. Petherick (editor). Songs and Verses by Philip Durham Lorimer: An Australian Bush Poet, William Clowes and Sons, London, 1901, pages 120-121