I await you: hath the rain-drift,
Sweeping fiercely from the sea,
Met you out across the plain-drift –
Barred you, blown you back from me?
And does Dusk, the half-breed, cover
The long, twisted track we know
(For a man may seek his lover)
Where the velvet mosses grow,
And the trailing ferns unravel?
(Must a woman stand and wait?)
Hark! a step upon the gravel,
And the clanging of a gate!
No, ’twas but the storm-wind’s laughter
In the grey gum’s boughs aloof,
Or the straining of a rafter
And the rain-drops on the roof.
I know that the twilight holds you
Somewhere in its great grey space;
That the wild, wet wind enfolds you
As it blows upon my face.
And mayhap your eyes are meeting
Other eyes they leap to meet –
If they seek not mine in greeting,
Then I care not whose they greet!
Now the Night has traced her finger
O’er the plain’s dim, blotted chart,
And the crawling moments linger
With their hoof-beats on my heart.
Mayhap ’tis a needless sorrow
O’er some little dull delay,
I may hear you tell to-morrow,
And laugh at this weary day.
‘Waiting,’ Bulletin 28 Jan 1904: 3. ML.
See also Verses 1905: [56-57].