Perhaps recent events have brought this poem to mind…
John Shaw Neilson (1872-1942) is one of the most delightful figures in Australian poetry.
The Orange Tree
The young girl stood beside me. I Saw not what her young eyes could see: - A light, she said, not of the sky Lives somewhere in the Orange Tree. - Is it, I said, of east or west? The heartbeat of a luminous boy Who with his faltering flute confessed Only the edges of his joy? Was he, I said, borne to the blue In a mad escapade of Spring Ere he could make a fond adieu To his love in the blossoming? - Listen! the young girl said. There calls No voice, no music beats on me; But it is almost sound: it falls This evening on the Orange Tree. - Does he, I said, so fear the Spring Ere the white sap too far can climb? See in the full gold evening All happenings of the olden time? Is he so goaded by the green? Does the compulsion of the dew Make him unknowable but keen Asking with beauty of the blue? - Listen! the young girl said. For all Your hapless talk you fail to see There is a light, a step, a call This evening on the Orange Tree. - Is it, I said, a waste of love Imperishably old in pain, Moving as an affrighted dove Under the sunlight or the rain? Is it a fluttering heart that gave Too willingly and was reviled? Is it the stammering at a grave, The last word of a little child? - Silence! the young girl said. Oh, why, Why will you talk to weary me? Plague me no longer now, for I Am listening like the Orange Tree.