| Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918. |
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| 9. Sonnet |
| | | By Charles Harpur |
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| SHE loves me! From her own bliss-breathing lips | |
| The live confession came, like rich perfume | |
| From crimson petals bursting into bloom! | |
| And still my heart at the remembrance skips | |
| Like a young lion, and my tongue too trips | 5 |
| As drunk with joy! while every object seen | |
| In life’s diurnal round wears in its mien | |
| A clear assurance that no doubts eclipse. | |
| And if the common things of nature now | |
| Are like old faces flushed with new delight, | 10 |
| Much more the consciousness of that rich vow | |
| Deepens the beauteous, and refines the bright, | |
| While throned I seem on love’s divinest height | |
| ’Mid all the glories glowing round its brow. | |
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