Last sea-thing dredged by sailor Time from Space,Are you a drift Sargasso, where the WestIn halcyon calm rebuilds her fatal nest?Or Delos of a coming Sun-God's race?Are you for Light, and trimmed, with oil in place,Or but a Will o' Wisp on marshy quest?A new demesne for Mammon to infest?Or lurks millennial Eden 'neath your face?
The cenotaphs of species dead elsewhereThat in your limits leap and swim and fly,Or trail uncanny harp-strings from your trees,Mix omens with the auguries that dareTo plant the Cross upon your forehead sky,A virgin helpmate Ocean at your knees.
Sources, publication & text notesReference details
Canonical recordPOEM-001737
Copy-textInternet Archive facsimile, The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse (1918); comparison: FACSIMILE_VISUAL; https://archive.org/details/oxfordbookofaus00murduoft
While The Billy BoilsSearch