An Anthology of Australian Verse/Players

And after all — and after all, Our passionate prayers, and sighs, and tears, Is life a reckless carnival? And are they lost, our golden years?

Ah, no; ah, no; for, long ago, Ere time could sear, or care could fret, There was a youth called Romeo, There was a maid named Juliet.

The players of the past are gone; The races rise; the races pass; And softly over all is drawn The quiet Curtain of the Grass.

But when the world went wild with Spring, What days we had! Do you forget? When I of all the world was King, And you were my Queen Juliet?

The things that are; the things that seem — Who shall distinguish shape from show? The great processional, splendid dream Of life is all I wish to know.

The gods their faces turn away From nations and their little wars; But we our golden drama play Before the footlights of the stars.

There lives — though Time should cease to flow, And stars their courses should forget — There lives a grey-haired Romeo, Who loves a golden Juliet.