Winter Night.

The gracious moon had thrown her gems

As alms to the poor world below;
The tall trees borne on silver stems
Were crowned with shining diadems
And the grey fences seemed to glow.

Thin violet vapors from the plain
Crept, luminous, up the shadowy hill;
And, panting pearl, I saw the train
Fade round the curve and flash again
A thing of splendid light and will.

Beyond the droop of magic oaks
And spires of spangled turpentine
The little breezes could not coax
One upward drift for those blue smokes
Suspended in the leafless vine.

But honey-yellow were the lamps
That gleamed across the lattice bars.
Crying to every light that tramps
Behind the moon through frosty damps
Their pity of the homeless stars.

For all her radiant attire.
A melancholy held the night,
The sad trees wept for Springs desire;
But summer mirth of scented fire
Filled one small room with laughing light.

David McKee Wright.
N.S.W.
The Bulletin, 11 September 1921.