Poems (Storrie)/Sydney in July
Sydney in July.
The clouds have wept their great hearts out, The westerly is dead, Each night the world's wide hearthstone glows With embers, grey and red; The sun, abashed, rides proud and high Nor tries his wooing ways to try On Sydney in July.
A cold, salt air sweeps through the Heads Along the waterways, And shores and ships and quays are wrapped In soft grey blotting haze. A breath of violets mingles with the fumes Of she-oak logs that glow in curtained rooms. Dreams softly fly On velvet wings in Sydney in July.