Archive for June 1st, 2022

Wednesday, 1 June 2022

Perth in Morning Light by Mary “May” Amelia Doyle Kidson

(New Year 1925)

O! heavenly sweet the pearly morn,
With the still river fast asleep,
And all the youngling day unborn,
While fleecy clouds like flocks of sheep
Are straying by the raying east
And dawn makes ready for her feast,
The trees that fringe the river bank
Lie, too, beneath the crystal tide
As ‘twere some fairy artist sank
A perfect etching that defied
The river (as it laps and dips)
Unsmeared by the wet fingertips,
The Hills white veiled seemed bent in prayer,
Such little hills to climb so high,
Half circling in their garden care
The City ‘neath the leaning sky,
And still by bank and bole runs on
The river in the rising sun,
Nearby a Mill wan with the years,
And quaintly old is proud to stand
The legacy of pioneers
Sure of the future of the land—
A precious monument apart
Of virile men, of lion heart …
The river passes by the town
A mimic sea in morning calm;
Above a greening crest looks down
Beyond the circle of its arm,
Where cressets of the red gum blaze
And wattle lights her golden rays,
There King’s Park keeps her bushland still
(That every wilding flower dyes)
To frolic free by dale and hill.
And just below the City lies,
Where the smoke spirals, grey and blue,
Curl on the new day breaking through.
The town hall spire that is our pride,
Delicate, poised against the sky
The City’s mist doth override
And round it homing pigeons fly.
I stand a moment then apart
And seem to hear a people’s heart.
Aye! Well I know that dreams come true
When hand and heart and brain create
The larger vision coming through,
When strong souls serve and serving wait
The newer day that shall be born,
In the sun of another morn …
The placid river bears along
The freighted barges from the sea.
Singing afresh some matin song
Of days that were and days to be,
And when the breeze and river meet
The salt foam sprays the City’s feet;
By Blackwall Reach and Crawley Bay,
On the Swan River’s silvery breast
I’ve seen her white winged feet at play …
This stilly morning of the West
I sail my skiff of memories
Adown the river to the seas.
It’s New Year morn, alone, aloud,
Cathedral chimes are floating by;
Thoughts like to prayer about me crowd,
And all the silence underlie
That a fine people find their goal,
With heart steel-true and striving soul.

From: Kidson, May, “Perth in Morning Light” in The Sunday Times, Sunday, December 28 1924, p. 1.

Date: 1924

By: Mary “May” Amelia Doyle Kidson (c1858-1942)