By Kathleen Watson
When all the world awoke,
I remembered we were happy, how tenderly you spoke;
I remembered every word you ever said-
I remembered you were dead.
It is no use pretending. When we die
it is an end – no architectural sky,
no land of hope and glory for the soul-
we have attained the goal.
Dear, broken love, your memory I keep
safe in my life, knowing this is no sleep
from which our hearts can waken, as from rest,
to love again. Truth uttermost is best.
In no vain fool’s illusion could I trust.
My love is ashes, dust.
Meanjin Papers, volume 1, no 7, p12. 1942.