Evening at Bribie Island 1919

31st October 2015 marked the centenary of Bribie Island's most historic house, Coungeau House and the occasion was celebrated later that year with a function and entertainment.

One of the highlights of the afternoon was a recitation by Jan Cleaver of Emily Coungeau's poem "Evening at Bribie Island".  

Emily wrote this poem in 1919 at her home now called Coungeau House then called St. Osyth House by Emily after her childhood home. The poem was published in 1920 in Emily Coungeau's book "Rustling Leaves".

As you read these words, imagine Bribie Island as Emily would have seen it, over a century ago.

EVENING AT BRIBIE ISLAND

A precious draught of beauty where the leaves

For ever croon a tender symphony,

And in its bed as one who lonely grieves

Lies that big jewel, the enchanted sea.

Its facets, charged with liquid, living light,

Lapis-lazuli, jade, and molten gold.

Sobbing or dreaming of some wondrous sight

That never yet to mortal has been told.

Through the green boughs the wind now gently stirs.

And in your hair we see pale flowers blow,

Sheltered so lovingly by slumbrous firs.

Dear wood-anemones, how slim they grow,

The birds are singing in the cloud-flecked sky,

A magpie chatters to its distant mate,

A gorgeous butterfly flits joyously

From bloom to bloom on downy wings elate.

Hush! see unsheathed the velvet wings of night.

Purple and silver-stoled her soft limbs are;

We feel her presence ere her footfall light

Touches the earth, leaving Heaven's door ajar.

The air is steeped in heavy odorous scent,

The stars are broidered on celestial blue,

Soft, limpid eyes for countless aeons bent

Over earth's book to read the soul of you.

The moon has risen, the filmy mothwings pass,

A strange, new loveliness comes, silver-veiled,

Across the emerald carpet of deep grass.

The dew with diamond necklaces has trailed. . . .

Oh! cool, dim woods, unknown are yet your ways.

That yearn for eager eyes and hands to press.

What lotus flowers may dream long happy days

In the deep pools of your fair wilderness.

* * *

And did not Beauty clothe each living thing,

The man, the tree, the flowers, with breath divine.

Life had no song. . . Oh! Master, we must bring

Our tribute to Thy feet, for all is Thine.

Emily Coungeau

Bribie Island, 1919.

References:
Bribie's Coungeau House 100 years old by Barry Clark. BIHS Blogspot, 5 December 2015

Coungeau, E. (1920) Rustling Leaves : selected poems. Sydney: William Brooks & Co., 1920.

Hooper, L. (2012) Emily (Howard) Coungeau 1860-1936.  Queensland History Journal v.21(10) August 2012, pages 688-702.