Paths of Peace.
I know the ways are just as sweet
With quaker-grass and clover,
I know the turf beneath my feet
Is velvet, daisied over.
The She-oaks murmur overhead,
The sweet bush scents assail me,
But something in my heart is dead,
And hope and courage fail me.
The night has still her golden eyes,
The sunset tints are splendid,
But in my heart a shadow lies,
Its happiness is ended.
I know the world is just the same,
Its beauty still undaunted,
I, only I, must take the blame
That I am spectre-haunted.
For beauty lieth not apart,
A thing of outward seeing,
But springeth up within the heart,
Bound in its inmost being.
And peace, though she may range and roam
Where’er her instinct leads her,
Will build a nest and make a home
In every heart that needs her,
If there be room, for though they lie
So soft you scarce can view them,
The portals must be wide and high
That let her pinions through them.
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, pages 70-71