#AustralianWriters
BY the road, near her father’s dw… There groweth a hawthorn tree: Its blossoms are fair and fragrant As the love that I cast from me. It is all a-bloom this morning
IN my garden, O Beloved! Many pleasant trees are growing, Peach, and apricot, and apple, Myrtle, lilac, and laburnum. Fair are they, but midst them lone…
What shall a man remember In days when he is old, And Life is a dying ember, And Fame a story told? Power—that came to leave him?
’TIS said that the Passion Flowe… With its figures of spear and swor… And hammer and nails, is a symbol Of the Woe of our Blessed Lord. So still in the Heart of Beauty
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…
THE CURTAIN rose—the play beg… The limelight on the gay garbs sho… Yet carelessly I gazed upon The painted players, maid and man, As one with idle eyes who sees
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…
Through the noiseless doors of De… Three passed out, as with one brea… Two had faces stern as Fate, Stamped with unrelenting hate. One upon her lips of guile
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 sap runs up the tree, And the vine runs o’er the wall, When the blossom draws the bee, From the forest comes a call, Wild, and clear, and sweet, and st…
Soul of the leaping flame; Heart of the scarlet fire, Spirit that hath for name Only the name - Desire! Subtle art thou and strong;
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
They brought my fair love out upon… Out from the dwelling that her smi… Out from the life that her life ma… Into the glitter of the garish str… And no man wept, save I, for that…
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:
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