I turned away from it until
Work should be done and strife be still.
My hands and head for use are free,
Nor does my own life worry me,
But docile as a spaniel waits
Until this present stress abates.
Tranquil it breathes, and waits, I know,
With all its joy contained. But oh
I hope when I have time to play
My life will not have run away!
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Australia’s Men
THERE are some that go for love of a fightAnd some for love of a land,And some for a dream of the world set freeWhich they barely understand.A drearn of the world set free from Hate–But splendidly, one and all,Danger they drink as ’twere wine of LifeAnd jest as they reel and fall.Clean aims, rare…
They’re burning off at the Rampadells,
With greedy licking around the trees;The fierce breath sears our eyes.From cores already grown furnace-hot –The logs are well alight!We fling more wood where the flameless heartIs throbbing red and white.The fire bites deep in that beating heart,The creamy smoke-wreaths oozeFrom cracks and knot-holes along the trunkTo melt in greys and blues.The young horned moon…
At the dawning of the day,
When the sky is pink and greyAs the wings of a wild galah,And the last night-shadow ebbsFrom the trees like a falling tide,And the dew-hung spiderwebsOn the grass-blades spread far and wide –Each sharp spike loaded well,Bent down low with the heavy dew –Wait the daily miracleWhen the world is all made anew:When the sun’s…
This is not easy to understand
Where all thecolours are low in pitch –Deep purples, emeralds deep and rich,Where autumn’s flaming and summer’s green –Here is a beauty you have not seen.All is pitched in a higher key,Lilac, topaz, and ivory,Palest jade-green and pale clear blueLike aquamarines that the sun shines through,Golds and silvers, we have at will –Silver and gold…
The almond bloom is overpast, the apple blossoms blow.
My flowers will never come to fruit, but I have kept my pride –A little, cold, and lonely thing, and I have naught beside.The spring-wind caught my flowering dreams, they lightly blew away.I never had but one true love, and he died yesterday.
Over the crest of the Hill of Sleep,
Into a country of wondrous things,Enter we dreaming, and know we’re kings.Murmur or roar as it may, the streamLaughs to the youngster who dreams his dream.Leave him alone till his fool’s heart breaks:Dreams all are real till the dreamer wakes!