A BRIDLE-PATH in the tangled mallee,
With blossoms unnamed and unknown bespread,—
And two who ride through its leafy alley,—
But never the sound of a horse’s tread.
And one by one whilst the foremost rider
Puts back the boughs which have grown apace,—
And side by side where the track is wider,—
Together they come to the olden place.
To the leaf-dyed pool whence the mallards flattered,
Or ever the horses had paused to drink;
Where the word was said and the vow was uttered
That brighten for ever its weedy brink.
And Memory closes her sad recital,—
In Fate’s cold eyes there are kindly gleams,—
While for one brief moment of blest requital,—
The parted have met,—in the Land of Dreams.
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