Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.
117. Blindness
O
A wistfulness is in our thought:
Our lights are like the dawns which only
Seem bright to us and yet are not.
Another heart in you I guess:
A stranger’s lips—but thine I kiss not,
Erring in all my tenderness.
Takes every burning kiss we give:
His lights are those which round us hover:
For him alone our lives we live.
Point all their passionate love in vain,
And blinded in the joy of being,
Meet only when pain touches pain.