A Christ-child Day in Australia

A COPPER concave of a sky
 Hangs high above my head.
Vague thunder sullenly goes by
 With dragging, muffled tread.
 
The hot air faints upon the grass,
 And at its bitter breath,
Ten thousand trembling flower-souls pass,
 With fragrant sighs, to death.
 
There comes no breeze. No breeze has sprung
 And sweetly blown for days.
Dead air in silent sheets has hung,
 Smooth wavering sheets of haze.
 
The very birds that erstwhile soared
 Hide hushed in haunts of trees.
Nature no longer walks abroad,
 But crouches on her knees.
 
Crouches and hides her withered face,
 Above her barren breast,
And I forget her yester grace
 And the clustering mouths she blessed.
 
’Tis in no alien land I sit,
 Almost it is mine own.
Its fibres to my fibres knit,
 Its bone into my bone.
 
These are no alien skies I know,
 Yet something in my blood
Calls sharp for breath of ice and snow
 Across the wide, salt flood.
 
Calls loud and will not be denied,
 Cries, with imperious tears,
And mem’ries that have never died
 Leap wildly o’er the years:
 
The thrill of England’s winter days,
 Of England’s frost-sharp air,
The ice along her waterways,
 Her snowfields stretching fair,
 
Her snowfields gleaming through the dark,
 Her bird with breast aglow,
On the white land a crimson mark,
 —Ah England, England’s snow!
 
Fair as a queen, this far south land,
 A wayward bride, half won,
Her dowry careless flung like sand,
 Her royal flax unspun.
 
And if beneath her ardent glance
 Her subjects faint and reel,
Does she but melt, stoop to entrance,
 They kiss her hem and kneel.
 
And I—I kneel. For oft her hand
 Has gently touched my hair.
Then with a throb I rise and stand,
 —A Queen!—why should she spare!
 
Yet when the Christ-Child mem’ries steal,
 Some ebb-tide swells to flood.
Ah, England—just once more to feel
 Thy winter in my blood

Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)
117 Views

Ethel Turner

Ethel Turner was an English-born Australia|Australian novelist/ and children's literature writer. more…

All Ethel Turner poems | Ethel Turner Books

FAVORITE (0 fans)

Translation

Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

Select another language:

  • - Select -
  • Chinese - Simplified 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
  • Chinese - Traditional 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
  • Spanish Español (Spanish)
  • Japanese 日本語 (Japanese)
  • Portuguese Português (Portuguese)
  • German Deutsch (German)
  • Arabic العربية (Arabic)
  • French Français (French)
  • Russian Русский (Russian)
  • Kannada ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
  • Korean 한국어 (Korean)
  • Hebrew עברית (Hebrew)
  • Ukrainian Український (Ukrainian)
  • Urdu اردو (Urdu)
  • Hungarian Magyar (Hungarian)
  • Hindi मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
  • Indonesian Indonesia (Indonesian)
  • Italian Italiano (Italian)
  • Tamil தமிழ் (Tamil)
  • Turkish Türkçe (Turkish)
  • Telugu తెలుగు (Telugu)
  • Thai ภาษาไทย (Thai)
  • Vietnamese Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
  • Czech Čeština (Czech)
  • Polish Polski (Polish)
  • Indonesian Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
  • Romanian Românește (Romanian)
  • Dutch Nederlands (Dutch)
  • Greek Ελληνικά (Greek)
  • Latin Latinum (Latin)
  • Swedish Svenska (Swedish)
  • Danish Dansk (Danish)
  • Finnish Suomi (Finnish)
  • Persian فارسی (Persian)
  • Yiddish ייִדיש (Yiddish)
  • Armenian հայերեն (Armenian)
  • Norwegian Norsk (Norwegian)
  • English English (English)

Discuss this Ethel Turner poem with the community:

Citation

Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:

Style:MLAChicagoAPA

"A Christ-child Day in Australia" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 25 Jun 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/12864/a-christ-child-day-in-australia>.

We need you!

Help us build the largest poetry community and poems collection on the web!

Thanks for your vote! We truly appreciate your support.