Stand up, my young Australian, In the brave light of the sun, And hear how Freedom’s battle Was in the old days lost - and won… The blood burns in my veins, boy,

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…

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…

And after all—and after all,    Our passionate prayers, and sig… Is life a reckless carnival?    And are they lost, our golden y… Ah, no; ah, no; for, long ago,

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 -

IN Youth, when through our veins… The bright red stream of life, The Soul’s Voice is a trumpet-bla… That calls us to the strife. The Spirit spurns its prison-bars…

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

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…

Within his office, smiling. Sat JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, But all the screws of Birmingham Were working in his brain. The heart within his bosom

O THE Queen may keep her golden Crown and sceptre of command! I would give them both twice over To be King of Babyland. Sure, it is a wondrous country

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

If I were young as you, Sixteen, And you were old as I, I would not be as I have been, You would not be so shy— We should not watch with careless…

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…

By a black wharf I stood lately, When the night was at its noon; Keen, malicious stars were shining… And a wicked, white-faced moon. And I saw a stately vessel,