#AustralianWriters
Unto the Person kind there came A young girl bearing her fruit of… She fell and it had to pay the pri… Innocent Lamb of Sacrifice! Lovingly then the Person smiled,
What! Don’t you our Mæcenas kno… The man who started, years ago, Our Wild Australian Author show? You don’t? Your ignorance sublim… Exceeds– to use a Boston rhyme –
WHO are these strange small folk, These that come to our homes as ki… Asking nor leave nor grace, Bending our necks to their yoke, Taking the highest place,
METHOUGHT I came unto a world… Where souls stood thick as grain a… And many reapers, full of pious pr… With rapid scythe-sweeps mowed the… And zealous binders bound them up…
THE DAYS go by—the days go by, Sadly and wearily to die: Each with its burden of small care… Each with its sad gift of gray hai… For those who sit, like me, and si…
Bouquet said: “My floral ring The homage of a heart encloses, Whose thoughts to you go worshippi… In perfume from my blushing roses.… Bracelet said: “My rubies red,
HAVING certain cares to drown, To the sea I took them down: And I threw them in the wave, That engulfed them like a grave. Swiftly then I plied the oar
Tjere are three mighty Voices th… Cry out to God to speed His Judg… The Voice of Devils, weary long a… Of dragging souls to Everlasting… The Voice of Saints who hear, whi…
THE old dead flowers of bygone su… The old sweet songs that are no mo… The rose-red dawns that were welco… When you and I and the world were… Are lost, O love, to the light fo…
Within his office, smiling. Sat JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, But all the screws of Birmingham Were working in his brain. The heart within his bosom
The wan light of a stormy dawn Gleamed on a tossing ship: It was the In Memoriam Upon a mourning trip. Wild waves were on the windward bo…
The red sun on the lonely lands Gazed, under clouds of rose, As one who under knitted hands Takes one last look and goes. Then Pain, with her white sister…
Love is the sunlight of the soul, That, shining on the silken-tressÃ… Of her we love, around it seems to… A golden angel-aureole. And all her ways seem sweeter ways
A horseman on a hilltop green Drew rein, and wound his horn; So bright he looked he might have… The Herald of the Morn. His steed was of the sovran strain
DAY goeth bold in cloth of gold, A royal bridegroom he; But Night in jewelled purple walk… A Queen of Mystery. Day filleth up his loving-cup