#AustralianWriters
Was it the sun that broke my dream or was’t the dazzle of thy hair caught where our olden meadows see… themselves again and yet more fair… Ah, sun that woke me, limpid strea…
Fire in the heavens, and fire alon… and fire made solid in the flinty… thick-mass’d or scatter’d pebble,… the breathless hour that lives in… This valley, long ago the patient…
The droning tram swings westward:… the wire sings overhead, and chill midwinter draughts rattle the glas… that shows the dusking way I pass to yon four turreted square tower
And does she still perceive, her c… white fields, where maiden Dawn is anguish’d with the untold appro… or in the wooing forenoon softly p… where of our little friends
Scant majesty of stars prevails across the uncreated night, and fate is in the wind that wails or clamours on the lonely height. The years that go to make me man
Sweet silence after bells! deep in the enamour’d ear soft incantation dwells. Filling the rapt still sphere a liquid crystal swims,
Dies Dominica! the sunshine burns strong incense on the breathing fi… lucid, intense, all colour towards… that souls of flowers on the air a… What claustral joy to-day is on th…
Four springtimes lost: and in the… here in this quiet hour of glory,… while o’er the bridal land the westering sun dwells in untrou… a bridegroom proud of his permitte…
Spring breezes over the blue, now lightly frolicking in some tro… go forth to meet her way, for here the spell hath won and dr… 0 happy wind, thou that in her war…
And shall the living waters heed our vain desire, insensate Art! and fill the common dust I knead upgather’d from the trodden mart? As well might they forsake their c…
Twice now that lucid fiction of th… dissolves, the sphere that winter’… still-charm’d to glass the sad met… and futile ages of the suffering r… what, in its halt, the weary mood…
The yellow gas is fired from stree… past rows of heartless homes and h… dead churches, and the unending pa… by crowds - say rather, haggard sh… round nightly haunts of their delu…
Under a sky of uncreated mud or sunk beneath the accursed stree… is added up of cupboard-musty week… and ring’d about with walls of ugl… some narrow world of ever-streamin…
Quis Pro Domino? Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord… Ay’ verily: and by ministry of suc… As did His will upon the Saracen: And Christendom owns not that man…
Deep mists of longing blur the lan… as in your late October eve: almost I think your hand might lea… its old caress upon my hand— for sure this floating world of dr…