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Inez K Hyland

Bread and Wine

A cup of opal
Through which there glows
The cream of the pearl,
The heart of the rose;
And the blue of the sea
Where Australia lies,
And the amber flush
Of her sunset skies,
And the emerald tints
Of the dragon fly
Shall stain my cup
With their brilliant dye.
And into this cup
I would pour the wine
Of youth and health
And the gifts divine
Of music and song,
And the sweet content
Which must ever belong
To a life well spent.

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Disloyalty

Pull down the old hut, d’ye say, girls,
That H.R.H. shan’t see
The common place that used to do,
Years by, for your mother and me?

No!—not for a dozen Princes,
Nor lords nor dukes beside,
Will I pull down the poor old hut,
Where your mother lived and died.

Oh, I know that it’s old and crazy,
I know that it’s shabby and mean;
But it’s going to stand as it is, girls,
And I won’t erect a screen

To shut out the rambling shingle hut
From sight of this handsome place.
I should feel as is I had closed
The door in your mother’s face.

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To a Wave

Where were you yesterday? In Gulistan,
With roses and the frenzied nightingales?
Rather would I believe you shining ran
With peaceful floods, where the soft voice prevails
Of building doves in lordly trees set high,
Trees which enclose a home where love abides --
His love and hers, a passioned ecstasy;
Your tone has caught its echo and derides
My joyless lot, as face down pressed I lie
Upon the shifting sand, and hear the reeds
Voicing a thin, dissonant threnody
Unto the cliff and wind-tormented weeds.
As with the faint half-lights of jade toward
The shore you come and show a violet hue,
I wonder if the face of my adored
Was ever held importraitured by you.
Ah, no! if you had seen his face, still prest
Within your hold the picture dear would be,
Like that bright portrait which so moved the breast
Of fairest Gurd with soft unrest that she,

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