Poems (Storrie)/Sydney in July

​
Sydney in July.
The clouds have wept their great hearts out,  The westerly is dead, Each night the world's wide hearthstone glows  With embers, grey and red; The sun, abashed, rides proud and high Nor tries his wooing ways to try On Sydney in July.
A cold, salt air sweeps through the Heads  Along the waterways, And shores and ships and quays are wrapped  In soft grey blotting haze. A breath of violets mingles with the fumes Of she-oak logs that glow in curtained rooms.   Dreams softly fly On velvet wings in Sydney in July.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.