Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.

By Henry C. Kendall

26 . Orara

THE STRONG sob of the chafing stream

That seaward fights its way

Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam,

Is in the hills to-day.

But far and faint, a grey-winged form

Hangs where the wild lights wane—

The phantom of a bygone storm,

A ghost of wind and rain.

The soft white feet of afternoon

Are on the shining meads,

The breeze is as a pleasant tune

Amongst the happy reeds.

The fierce, disastrous, flying fire,

That made the great caves ring,

And scarred the slope, and broke the spire,

Is a forgotten thing.

The air is full of mellow sounds,

The wet hill-heads are bright,

And down the fall of fragrant grounds

The deep ways flame with light.

A rose-red space of stream I see,

Past banks of tender fern;

A radiant brook, unknown to me

Beyond its upper turn:

The singing silver life I hear,

Whose home is in the green,

Far-folded woods of fountains clear,

Where I have never been.

Ah, brook above the upper bend,

I often long to stand

Where you in soft, cool shades descend

From the untrodden land!

Ah, folded woods, that hide the grace

Of moss and torrents strong,

I often wish to know the face

Of that which sings your song!

But I may linger, long, and look

Till night is over all:

My eyes will never see the brook,

Or sweet, strange waterfall.

The world is round me with its heat,

And toil, and cares that tire;

I cannot with my feeble feet

Climb after my desire.

But, on the lap of lands unseen,

Within a secret zone,

There shine diviner gold and green

Than man has ever known.

And where the silver waters sing

Down hushed and holy dells,

The flower of a celestial Spring,

A tenfold splendour, dwells.

Yea, in my dream of fall and brook

By far sweet forests furled,

I see that light for which I look

In vain through all the world—

The glory of a larger sky

On slopes of hills sublime,

That speak with God and morning, high

Above the ways of Time!

Ah! haply, in this sphere of change

Where shadows spoil the beam,

It would not do to climb that range

And test my radiant Dream.

The slightest glimpse of yonder place,

Untrodden and alone,

Might wholly kill that nameless grace

The charm of the unknown.

And therefore, though I look and long,

Perhaps the lot is bright

Which keeps the river of the song

A beauty out of sight.