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Oh! Bury me in books when I am dead, Fair quarto leaves of ivory and gold, And silk octavos, bound in brown and red, That tales of love and chivalry unfold.…
Zora Bernice May Cross was an Australian poet, novelist and journalist. She was born in Brisbane, and was educated at Ipswich Girls' Grammar School and then Sydney Teachers' College. She taught for three years and then worked as a journalist, for the Boomerang and then as a freelance writer. After the failure of her first marriage she eventually lived in a de facto marriage with David McKee Wright. Zora'a first book of poetry, A Song of Mother Love, was published in 1916. Songs of Love and life, a collection of love poetry thought at the time to be rather too frank, but which proved popular enough to appear is several editions, followed in 1917. The 1920s saw the continuation of war poetry, both celebrating the exploits of the fighting men and lamenting the realities of war. Zora Cross’s Elegy on an Australian schoolboy, a poem about her young brother who was killed in the war, is an example of the latter. She is best-known for her 1917 book, Songs of love. She was known not only for her poems, including sonnet sequences, but for a private life scandalous by the standards of her time. She wrote about sex, childbirth and war, in terms also considered too explicit by contemporaries. As Bernice May, she wrote a regular column in the 1930s for the Australian Women's Mirror. It comprised interviews with women writers. Zora Cross died in the Blue Mountain region of New South Wales in 1964.)
Zora Bernice May Cross şiirleri
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I would not curse your England, wise as slow, Just as unjust in deed. I can believe that from her heart may flow The truest human creed.…
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Dame Fortune’s jade with a fanciful horn Of silver ambitions she warns of the flame; With pearls for the princes and tears night and morn For poor little poets who fluttered for fa…
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It’s holiday time on the hollyhock hills, And I wish you would come with me laddie-love, now, The butterfly-bells, from the Folly-fool rills, Will ring if you listen, and drop on y…
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What have you more than I, who crave you so? Have I not hands and feet and thoughts to tell? All my sweet senses and fine dreams that swell Rich with contentments that the star-win…
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Do not surcharge our souls with that vile blame To which our bodies are subjected here; Nor heap them with the horror of dull fear Base-borrowed from a life of torpid shame.…
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My mind and heart both love you utterly. And so each thought of mine is doubly yours, And all my will about your body pours Scents of my blood and fires that flow from me.…
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And then came Science with her torch red-lit And cosmic marvels round her glowing head— The primal cell, the worm, the quadruped— Striving to make each to the other fit.…
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My true mind makes as many loves of you As my full heart contentedly can hold. And when the one grows dull, the other cold, Yet comes another swifter in to woo.…
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Love is the sepulchre of all my sin, If it be sin to let the body sink In that slow dying the sick senses drink That ne’er have felt true Love’s delight rush in.…
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In me there is a vast and lonely place, Where none, not even you, have walked in sight. A wide, still vale of solitude and light, Where Silence echoes into ebbing space.…
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Love, you have brought to me my perfect soul, More sweet than earthly things, more precious rare, Hiding its fragrance in my loosened hair And folding up my body like a scroll.…
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Beloved, lest I should remember, I Must swift forget the wonder of last night. Hot memory would but blacken out my sight And dull my senses till they seemed to die.…
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If there should be a moon above the hill To-night, dip down with me into the sea Of our first passion, and, with naked glee, Breathe its ripe wonder to our beings’ fill.…
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Dearest, there is no part of us, but air And earth are counterparts. Your fragrant eyes Touching my own, some essence of the skies Instil therein, and all your warm, brown hair…
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