#AustralianWriters
Soul of the leaping flame; Heart of the scarlet fire, Spirit that hath for name Only the name - Desire! Subtle art thou and strong;
With pen in hand and pipe in mouth… And claret iced to quench my drout… I sit upon my balcony That overlooks the sparkling sea, Serenly gay, and cool, and bland -
The awful seers of old who wrote,… Like drops of blood, great thought… Of ages burn, as eyes of lions lig… Deep jungle-dusks; who smote with… The soul of man on its most secret…
ONCE a poet—long ago— Wrote a song as void of art As the songs that children know, And as pure as a child’s heart. With a sigh he threw it down,
BY his side, whose days are past, Lay bow and quiver! And his eyes that stare aghast Close, with a shiver. God nor man from Death, at last,
NEÆRA crowns me with a purple wr… That she with her own dainty hands… Gold-hearted blossoms and blue bud… Mingled with veined green leaves o… Then, bending down her bright head…
CAMILLA calls me heartless: hen… Logic in love has little part. How can I otherwise than heartles… Seeing Camilla has my heart?
These broken lines for pardon crav… I cannot end the song with art: My grief is gray and old—her grave Is dug so deep within my heart. IT was a day of sombre heat:
They leave us– artists, singers, a… When London calls aloud, Commanding to her Festival The gifted crowd. She sits beside the ship-choked T…
I HAVE been dreaming all a summe… Of rare and dainty poems I would… Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scen… Soft idylls woven of wind, and flo… And songs and sonnets carven in fi…
GOOD fellows are laughing and dr… (To-night no heart should grieve), But I am of old days thinking, Alone, on Christmas Eve. Old memories fast are springing
We said farewell, my youth and I, When all fair dreams were gone or… And Love’s red lips were cold and… When white blooms fell from tree-t… Our Austral winter’s way of snowi…
See how it flashes, This grape-blood fine! Our beards it splashes, O comrade mine! Life dust and ashes
He sat beneath the curling vines That round the gay verandah twined… His forehead seamed with sorrow’s… An old man with a weary mind. His young wife, with a rosy face
When the tender hand of Night Like a rose-leaf falls Softly on your starry eyes; When the Sleep-God calls, And the gate of dreams is wide,