Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.
46. To One Consecrated
Y
We were so far away from you:
We mixed in thought your spirit thus—
With whiteness, stars of gold, and dew.
Her breath blew from her mystic bowers;
Their elfin glimmer floated through
The pureness of your shadowy hours.
Gave love that clears the hidden ways;
Her glooms were glory to your eyes,
Her darkness but the fount of days.
And beauty radiant as the morn’s:
She made our joy in yours, then placed
Upon your head a crown of thorns.
For those whose eyes are dim with tears:
They see your brow is crowned and bright,
But not its ring of wounding spears.