AT A BOOK’S END.
The pencil falls. Now farewell must be said To these bright lovely ghosts, who for a space Were cherished in my heart. I watch each
face Pass where I may not follow. All are fled. And I, like one that lingers with the dead, Wait in this empty room, till in their place Come other men. whose story I may trace. Till they, too, leave my heart uncomforted.
These are no shadows conjured in the mind, Their radiant beauty from no fancy blown; These are bright buds on an immortal stem, Souls that see clearly where my eyes are blind. Who know swift ardours I have never known, And I am but the glass that mirrors them. —S. Denys Hooke, in the Observer.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19300408.2.257
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 3969, 8 April 1930, Page 68
Word Count
127AT A BOOK’S END. Otago Witness, Issue 3969, 8 April 1930, Page 68
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