My Morning Rose
In the morning, when I waken,
When the night is graveward taken,
And the dawn hangs on the hill-tops with its pomp of bannered gold ;
In the dew-time
Comes a true time
When my garden sings Hosannah as its perfumed choirs unfold !
In the morning — ah, the splendour
Of the sun-rise, flashing slender
Bars of light that swing triumphant as the new-born planet glows ;
’Tis no sad time —
Ah, the glad time
When the dawn comes with the glory of my fragrant morning rose !
From my window, vine-leaf clustered,
When the world is newly lustred,
And the birds among the tree-tops sing their glad epiphany ;
From my place there
I can trace there
Singing flowers that lift their anthem to a God no man may see !
And the flower that singeth sweetest
Is the rose — ah, bud that greetest
God and Life with hymns seraphic whilst the dawn-lift’s rapture shows,
Thou art splendid ! —
Doubt is ended
When I hear the song exultant of my peerless morning rose !
Woven sunlight, flower of glory —
Red thou art as when the lory
Flashes tree-ward to the Bushland where the wild things cageless are ;
Passion’s flower —
Ah, the hour
When the buds are lightward breaking, and their fragrant hearts unbar !
Bringest thou one thought regretful
To the soul that, once forgetful,
Lost the key that opens Heaven — key of joy that ebbs and flows ?
Nay, no grieving —
Faith is cleaving
In the hour that brings the splendour of my radiant morning rose !
Yet and yet, when comes November
There’s a flower I still remember —
Flower of love that opened gladly in the fragrant years that were ;
Time brings sadness —
Yet with gladness
Still I keep the thoughts unspoken ah, the heart’s own thoughts of her !
Who has loved has lived full measure —
Some there are who waste life’s treasure,
Some who leave life’s best behind them — ah, the saddened heart that knows !
Just a woman,
Warm and human —
And I would dawn brought her kisses with my mouth-red morning rose !
Wasted years of careless rapture
Come no more for man to capture —
“Come no more !” My Morning Flower lifteth now no lip to me ;
Life is over
When the lover
Hears the heart that beats within him ring the knell of Days to Be !
Yet and yet . . . the rose’s splendour
Comes again with fragrance tender,
And the earth new-weaves the glories that lay dead at summer’s close ;
Sin earns sorrow —
Shall To-morrow —
Bring me back my one true woman, bring me back my Morning Rose ?
In the morning, shall I waken —
For the years have vengeance taken —
Shall the dawn upon Life’s hilltops hang with pomp of bannered gold ?
God, I care not —
For I dare not —
When my garden breathes Hosannah, and its fragrant choirs unfold !
Truest Heart — she knew the splendour
Of the dawn-lift : and I send her
Just a song to go before her as a faithful lictor goes ;
Let it take her
From the Maker
Just a breath of morning’s glory caught from thee, my Morning Rose !
Grant Hervey. Australians Yet and Other Verses, Thomas C. Lothian, Melbourne, 1913, pages 112-115