#AustralianWriters
When my time is come to die, I would shun the decent gloom, Whispered word and weeping eye, Fitful hum of knowing fly Questing through the darkened room…
In the grey dawn I lie within my… Still as a frozen lake that pats n… With murmurous delight the o’erhan… Yet grim thoughts heave obscurely… For curtains I have earthen walls…
A singing voice is in my dream The voice of Erskine, on his boul… Babbling and shouting till he shou… Stoutly against the heavier stream… No longer now my curtained sight,
ABOVE us hangs the jewelled nigh… And how her restful cool caresses Make us forget the weary sight Of summer’s daily wildernesses! O aching toil and hope deferred,
The foamy waves are swishing As patiently we thud, But O the wave of wishing That surges in my blood! Along the ocean’s rim, now,
I have sought and followed you, dr… Led out by a laughing wind on a tu… On crags amid clouds, in cups that… And deep in the gem-lit gloom of t… And on widespread wings where the…
The beast exultant spreads the nos… Snuffing a sickly hate-enkindling… Proud of his rage, on sudden carna… He leaps, and flings the helpless… Again, again the hills are gapped…
’Twas Jack-o’-Winter hailed it fi… But now more timid angels sing, For what dull ear can fail to hear Afar the fluting of the Spring? In all free spaces of the land
From every quarter we, Who bent the trembling knee And cowered or grovelled prostrate… Now come once more to sing A dirge before thee, King,
While to the clarion blown by Mar… Tall Tragedy tramped by in hues o… And Shakespeare yet was tuning st… With English hawthorn crowned, in… When bright clouds melted in a sky…
Time, who with soft pale ashes vei… Of many a hope that flared against… To plant its heaven-storming banne… Has touched you with no desecratin… Your beauty wins a ripeness sweet…
The heart is hard that cannot feel The bruising of a light appeal. The heart is deaf that cannot hear The splashing of a tiny tear. The heart is dumb that cannot say
‘Our loss was light,' the pape… ‘Compared with damage to the Hu… She was a widow, and she read One name upon the list of dead Her son, her only son.
An outcry in the bush below, A crash, and boughs that sway, And shouts of laughter let me know Where my two ruffians play. Barelegged, bareheaded, brown and…
“Where shall we dwell?” say you. Wandering winds reply: “In a temple with roof of blue —Under the splendid sky.” Never a nobler home