#AustralianWriters
I have to make a soul for one Who lost his soul in childhood’s h… And I’m not sure’not really sur… If I have power. I don’t know whether souls are mad…
I hated them when I was four year… The bright pink berries on the pep… And now they seem quite beautiful… My tower of dreams when I was fou… Was such a tree. Its branches hid…
Our palm designed to grow In deserts, sent roots seeking far… Channels where waters flow. And in the city found Intricate pipings where the waters…
I read a statement in a newspaper That Twentyman, the manufacturer, Found it was cheaper to deliver go… By horse and lorry than by motor-t… Or motor-van. So he had sold his…
We climbed that hill, The road flushed red in pride At being beauty’s boundary. Eithe… Stretched beauty, beauty ever, bea… For on the left
When Gertie came in To work today She was much less weary And far more gay. We asked her the reason
The little ships are dearer than t… For they sail in strange places, They lean nearer the green waters. One may count by wavelets how the… From their decks; and hear the Se…
And is love very strong where hono… Would the world ever speak of Lan… Or Tristram’s love had they put h… What would you think if Guinevere… And begged for kisses and had begg…
In this little school Life goes so sweetly, Day on azure day Is lost completely. No one thinks too much,
If you have loved a brave story Tell it but rarely; And, with due faith in its glory, Render it barely. Then must the listener, hearing
He: That isn’t you. She: It’s me, in my blue skirt And scarlet coat and little golden… He: Not good enough. She: Well, burn it if you choose
They say—priests say— That God loves the world. Maybe he does, When the dew is pearl’d On the emerald grass,
Through the swift night I go to my love. Tram bells are joy bells, Bidding us move On a golden path
The strike’s done. The men won. The ships sail the sea To bring back What we lack,
O you, dear trees, you have learne… You must have studied this only th… Men have thought of God and laugh… And of love. And of song. But you, dear trees, from your bir…