Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.

70. The Message

DO you not feel the white glow in your breast, my bird?

That is the flame of love I send to you from afar:

Not a wafted kiss, hardly a whispered word,

But love itself that flies as a white-winged star.

Let it dwell there, let it rest there, at home in your heart:

Wafted on winds of gold, it is Love itself, the Dove.

Not the god whose arrows wounded with bitter smart,

Nor the purple-fiery birds of death and love.

Do not ask for the hands of love or love’s soft eyes:

They give less than love who give all, giving what wanes.

I give you the star-fire, the heart-way to Paradise,

With no death after, no arrow with stinging pains.