William Gay (1865-1897)

To M.

If in the summer of thy bright regard

For one brief season these poor Rhymes shall live

I ask no more, nor think my fate too hard

If other eyes but wintry looks should give;

Nor will I grieve though what I here have writ

O'erburdened Time should drop among the ways,

And to the unremembering dust commit

Beyond the praise and blame of other days:

The song doth pass, but I who sing, remain,

I pluck from Death's own heart a life more deep,

And as the Spring, that dies not, in her train

Doth scatter blossoms for the winds to reap,

So I, immortal, as I fare along,

Will strew my path with mortal flowers of song.

O steep and rugged Life, whose harsh ascent

Slopes blindly upward through the bitter night!

They say that on thy summit, high in light,

Sweet rest awaits the climber, travel-spent;

But I, alas, with dusty garments rent,

With fainting heart and failing limbs and sight,

Can see no glimmer of the shining height,

And vainly list, with body forward bent,

To catch athwart the gloom one wandering note

Of those glad anthems which (they say) are sung

When one emerges from the mists below:

But though, O Life, thy summit be remote

And all thy stony path with darkness hung,

Yet ever upward through the night I go.

(Texts from An Anthology of Australian Verse (1907?) from Project Gutenberg.)