Dorothea Mackellar (1924)
There’s a dancing flame in me
Coloured like a driftwood blaze,
Yellow, mauve and apple-green
Larkspur blue — an opal sheen
There was once a time when I
Tried to hush the flame to sleep —
‘Twas in vain those pains to take
With an angry little snake,
Roused and hissing, wide awake,
Everlasting watch to keep!
Now I leave it to itself,
That alone can quench which lit,
It can injure none, unless
Rudely close to it they press,
And my friends are fond of it.
Small red squirrel of a flame,
Salty sea-sheen driftwood flare!
If it is not suitable
For my quiet bosom, well,
Surely that is my affair?
