#AustralianWriters
Do you remember still the little s… I mumbled on the hill at Aura, ho… I told you it was made for Katie’… When I was fresh from school and… With all the strength of girlhood?…
He’s out of work! I tell myself a change should mean… And he must look for changes to ad… And he, of all men, really needs a… But I hate change.
He has picked grapes in the sun.… Like a fairy tale, Like a tale of dreams. ‘He in his slender youth, with vin… Under a blazing sky’—
If I had six white horses And six sturdy friends, I’d sell them into slavery, If that would gain your ends. I’d sell them into slavery,
Sometimes I lose My power of loving for an hour or… Then I misuse My knowledge of friends’ secrets t… Them far more heartily than others…
Sometimes I am too tired To think of you. Today was such a day, But then I knew Today, for certain, you’d be weary…
O man, O woman, grievest so? Art shut away from all delight, And must thou leave this garden pl… O Eve, O Adam, question not. The God is kind who would be crue…
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
I made a heaven for you filled wit… Each star a song Meant to give happy music to your… Day and night long. But in your workshop you are close…
They are so glad of a young compan… They hail and bless me, these boys… And I whose pathway was dark and… Have no more need of the sun to sh… We’ll walk in darkness, obscure, d…
I’m like all lovers, wanting love… A very mighty thing for you and me… In certain moods your love should… That burnt your very life up in de… The only kind of love then to my m…
She has all Ireland in her blood, All Ireland’s need of sword and t… With memories dim before the flood… And conflicts of a thousand years. No son of Italy should love
Whenever I think of you, you are… Shut by yourself between Great walls of stone. There is a stool, I think, and a… And a mat underneath your feet;
Today when you went up the hill And all that I could see Was just a speck of black and whit… Very far from me, It seemed more strange than words…
One comes to love the little saint… As years go by. One learns to love the little sain… ‘O hear me sigh, St. Anthony,
