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TO-NIGHT the sea sends up a gulf-like sound, And ancient rhymes are ringing in my head, The many lilts of song we sang and said, My friend and brother, when we journeyed round Our haunts at Wollongong, that classic ground For me at least, a lingerer deeply read And steeped in beauty. Oft in trance I tread Those shining shores, and hear your talk of Fame With thought-flushed face and heart so well assured (Beholding through the woodland’s bright distress The Moon half pillaged of her loveliness) Of this wild dreamer: Had you but endured A dubious dark, you might have won a name With brighter bays than I can ever claim. |