AN AUSTRALIAN WOMAN The sunset fades on Italy, The morning glow on Grecian heights is gone; There is no glamour on the

tideless sea Where once the great stars shone. The wonder of the tents of Shem The narrowing desert may no longer hold; The magic of grey Jerusalem Is wasted, thin and old. The Moorish arabesques are dim; The tall cathedrals of the past are chill; The long lights die amid the poplars slim And on the scented hill. The dawning is a yellow land, Old with soft silences and new with dreams, Has all the happy roses in her hand By these bird-haunted streams. Italian lights are in your hair All Attic shapes are in your flowing dress; No voice could touch the warm Castillian air With such a smooth caress. He who would be your chosen knight Must walk in all high places with no fear, Daring the utmost of the worlds delight With laughter as a spear. The love in your Australian eyes Speaks with a warmer challenge than men knew When Helen wasted beauty, and her sighs To hate and red wounds grew. For you with glory on your lips, Mistress of all that is since time began, Are women to your eager finger-tips To hold and save a man
David McKee Wright N.S.W. The Bulletin 5 July 1923