#AustralianWriters
In this little school Life goes so sweetly, Day on azure day Is lost completely. No one thinks too much,
Old memories waken old desires Infallibly. While we’re alive With eye or ear or sense at all, Sometimes, must love revive. But we’ll not think, when some str…
My lovely pixie, my good companion… You do not love me, bed-mate of mi… Save as a child loves, Careless of loving, Rather preferring raspberry wine.
Into old rhyme The new words come but shyly. Here’s a brave man Who sings of commerce dryly. Swift-gliding cars
When I am making poetry I’m good And happy then. I live in a deep world of angelhoo… Afar from men. And all the great and bright and f…
He looks in my heart and the image… Is himself, himself, than himself… And he thinks of my heart as a mir… To reflect the image I hold most… But my heart is much more like a s…
He has a fairy wife. He does not know her. She is the heart of the storm, Of the clouds that lower. And as the clouds are torn
Beauty does not walk through lovel… Beauty walks with horror in her ha… Down long centuries of pleasant wa… Men have found the terrible most f… Youth is lovelier in death than li…
Florence kneels down to say her pr… At night. I wonder what she says and why she… To pray at night. I think when she kneels down to pr…
Ay, ay, ay, the lilies of the gard… With red threads binding them and… These shall be her symbols, for sh… Holy in her maidenhood and very fu… Ay, ay, ay, for she is very girlis…
When I was still a child I thought my love would be Noble, truthful, brave, And very kind to me. Then all the novels said
Somebody brought in lilac, Lilac after rain. Isn’t it strange, belovéd of mine You’ll not see it again? Lilac glad with the sun on it
The love I look for Could not come from you. My mind is set to fall At Peterloo. But you’ld protect me,
Through the Museum I stroll, and see Goblets fashioned in Arcady, Spears from the Islands, and robe… Gew-gaws of pomp and of old desire…
The sun’s my fire. Golden, from a magnificence of blu… Should be its hue. But woolly clouds, Like boarding-house old ladies, co…