The Sun Rising
In the brass light of morning, fire along the . grass, The tide far out, turning, the wind at peace.
The vivid sky stood open, a scene with nothing wrong: Sun was sun, stones were stones, colours sharp and strong.
The gasworks and the barracks and the red Vic- torian gaol Were accepted in the pattern: a child's world well.
White in the height of morning the cenotaph was new.
The town lay sleeping like the dead : dead I didn't know.
The first light was created : on the untrampled sand The curved salt lines extended like an unread hand. There is a shining of the mind that takes its light from there.
White names on the cenotaph. Children grown to war.
SYDNEY TREMAYNE