A flame in the wind of death,It trembles ceaselessly.And this all we can doTo use our little lightBefore, in the piercing wind,It flickers into night:To yield the heat of the flame,To grudge not, but to giveWhatever we have of strength,That one more flame may live.
Of ordered woods and gardensIs running in your veins,Strong love of grey-blue distanceBrown streams and soft dim skiesI know but cannot share it,My love is otherwise.I love a sunburnt country,A land of sweeping plains,Of ragged mountain ranges,Of droughts and flooding rains.I love her far horizons,I love her jewel-sea,Her beauty and her terror –The wide brown…
