The Spike: or, Victoria College Review 1912
Oh, speed your way while the sun is bright
With the flush of the early east
To the hills a-frown with mystic might,
Ere the throb of the dawn has ceased:
To the burning thrall of the broken west,
To the winding trail and its weird unrest,
And the spell of the siren's feast.
And be there a lilt in the joys we shared
To lighten your life in its waning day,—
Be it whirr of wheel on the reeling slope,—
Be it fire of hoof on the falling way,—
Be it bursting bud of a blossoming hope,
Lay it in lavender; fold it away.
We have watched the warmth of the westward seas,
And the blue of the serried south;
We have drained of life to the withered lees
In the barren days of drouth;
We have caught the hush of straining peaks,
And trailed the carol of crooning creeks
To the angry river mouth.
And be there a charm of the joys of the west
To gladden your life in its autumn day,—
The dreamy deeps of a shroudless sky
Or flaming dust of the scattered way:
Oh, garner its spell ere the glamour die,
Lay it in lavender, fold it away.