#AustralianWriters
Green and blue First-named of colours believe the… They first of colours by men were… This grass colour, tree colour, Sky colour, sea colour,
I wish you’d seen that dirty littl… Finger at nose, Peeking and ginking at some girls… Seated on the high window-sills to… One of the girls had hair as brigh…
At ten o’clock the great gong soun… Prelude to splendour. I push back… And all the people leave their boo… Still acquiescent, down the marble… Into the dark where we can’t read.…
I am no mystic. All the ways of G… Are dark to me. I know not if he lived or if he di… In agony. My every act has reference to man.
Standing on tiptoe, head back, eye… Upraised, Kate groped to reach th… Her sleeve slid up like darkness i… At gleam of dawn. Impatient with… For lack of inches, careless of he…
Every day Miss Mary goes her roun… Through the splendid house and thr… Looking if the kitchen table’s whi… Seeing if the great big fire’s ali… Finding specks on shining pans and…
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…
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…
How funny it would be if dreamy I Should leave one book behind me wh… And that a book of Law’this sil… Just written for the money it will… I do hope, when it’s finished, I’…
Little girls, You are gay, Little factory girls, At the end of your day. There you stand,
They used to say Our mother brought us up like hot-… From day to day Such wondrous cares were ours Her love inspired.
The sun’s my fire. Golden, from a magnificence of blu… Should be its hue. But woolly clouds, Like boarding-house old ladies, co…
Flowers have uncountable ways of p… Not solid, but moonlight or sunlig… Primroses strive for the colour of… Dew-besprent. Freesias are flames wherein light…
O little plum tree in the garden,… Aflower again, With memories of a million springs… Brief years of pain. O little tree, you have the power…
To Plato’s dictum Assent she lends. All things in common We hold, as friends. I share her riches.