Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.
48. A Womans Voice
H
But yet his spirit slipped not through:
I only felt the burning clay
That withered for the cooling dew.
And called him to my heart for rest,
And half a mother’s love that woke
Feeling his head upon my breast:
To shield her cubs from hurt or death,
Which, when the serried hunters press,
Makes terrible her wounded breath.
Asked for such love as equals claim—
I looked where all the stars were gone
Burned in the day’s immortal flame.
From darkness vanquished, battles done:
Flame unto flame shall flow and be
Within thy heart and mine as one.