There are ruddy peaches hanging where pink blossoms once did blow,
And the golden corn is rustling where the green flag used to grow,
Wee, downy birds are cheeping where but spotted eggs did lie,
When all the world is faring thus, dear heart, why should not I?
There are promises like peaches that should ripen into deeds,
And hopes that like the yellow corn should satisfy my needs,
There are little joys within my heart that only wait for wings
To rise and till the blue of Heaven with happy carollings.
Then lay thy hand, dear heart, in mine, deny me not my share
Of the rich sheaves of harvest being garnered everywhere,
Yield me thyself in season due, for thou my summer art,
Thy love shall fill and ripen all the powers of my heart.
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, page 110