Whispering In Wattle Boughs
Whispering in Wattle -Boughs by Adam Lindsay Gordon OH, gaily sings the bird! and the wattle-boughs are stirred And rustled by the scented breath of Spring; Oh, the dreary wistful longing! Oh, the faces that are thronging! Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering! Oh, tell me, father mine, ere the good […]
Thoras Song Ashtaroth
Thora’s Song (‘Ashtaroth’) by Adam Lindsay Gordon We severed in Autumn early, Ere the earth was torn by the plough; The wheat and the oats and the barley Are ripe for the harvest now. We sunder’d one misty morning Ere the hills were dimm’d by the rain; Through the flowers those hills […]
The Swimmer
The Swimmer by Adam Lindsay Gordon With short, sharp violent lights made vivid, To the southward far as the sight can roam, Only the swirl of the surges livid, The seas that climb and the surfs that comb, Only the crag and the cliff to nor’ward, And rocks receding, and reefs flung […]
The Sick Stockrider
The Sick Stockrider by Adam Lindsay Gordon Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more, and lay me in the shade. Old man, you’ve had your work cut out to guide Both horses, and to hold me in the saddle when I swayed, All through the hot, slow, sleepy, silent ride. The […]
The Last Leap
The Last Leap by Adam Lindsay Gordon ALL is over! fleet career, Dash of greyhound slipping thongs, Flight of falcon, bound of deer, Mad hoof-thunder in our rear, Cold air rushing up our lungs, Din of many tongues. Once again, one struggle good, One vain effort;—he must dwell Near the shifted post, […]
Gone
Gone by Adam Lindsay Gordon IN Collins Street standeth a statute tall, A statue tall, on a pillar of stone, Telling its story, to great and small, Of the dust reclaimed from the sand waste lone; Weary and wasted, and worn and wan, Feeble and faint, and languid and low, He lay […]
An Exiles Farewell
An Exile’s Farewell by Adam Lindsay Gordon The ocean heaves around us still With long and measured swell, The autumn gales our canvas fill, Our ship rides smooth and well. The broad Atlantic’s bed of foam Still breaks against our prow; I shed no tears at quitting home, Nor will I shed […]
A Song Of Autumn
A Song of Autumn by Adam Lindsay Gordon ‘WHERE shall we go for our garlands glad At the falling of the year, When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad, When the boughs are yellow and sere? Where are the old ones that once we had, And when are the new ones […]
A Dedication
A Dedication by Adam Lindsay Gordon They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less Of sound than of words, In lands where bright blossoms are scentless, And songless bright birds; Where, with fire and fierce drought on her tresses, Insatiable Summer oppresses Sere woodlands and sad wildernesses, And faint flocks and herds. […]