THE WANDERER TO HIS LOVE.
I have brought you strange gifts out or' far lands, Silks, and the plumes of birds; I have given my life into your hands: But how can I bring you words?* I have forged you songs out of battle-cries; But when to your side I come, The marvel of your soft face and magical eyes Holds me, and I am dumb. Perhaps when I am beaten in the fight, fallen in the race, When my last song is sung, And we grow old in some secret, intimate place, Then will my love find tongue. —Vance Palmer, in the Neio Witness.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZT19200311.2.61
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Tablet, 11 March 1920, Page 30
Word Count
105THE WANDERER TO HIS LOVE. New Zealand Tablet, 11 March 1920, Page 30
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