Love’s labouring hands won from the wilderness
A patch of earth, where he might raise
A refuge that the years’ unkindliness
Would leave untouched, and all our days
Be spent in quiet graciousness.
Ah, sweet and warm and safe with Love I live.
But once there passed a singing boy
In cloak and shoes of scarlet. I would give
Up all my hours of prisoned joy
To walk the hills with that glad fugitive!
From: Douglas, Rufa, “Caged” in The Australasian, Saturday, 8 December 1928, p. 56.
(https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/141359237)
Date: 1928
By: Rufa Douglas (fl. 1927-1929)
From Troubles of The World 