Know all men by these presents, Death, the tamer, By mortgage has secured the corpse of Demar; Nor can four hundred thousand sterling pound Redeem him from his prison underground....
Can we not force from widow'd poetry, Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust, Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,...
Beside a crib that holds a baby's stocking, A tattered picture book, a broken toy, A sleeping mother dreams that she is rocking Her fair-haired cherub boy. ...
I find an old deserted nest, Half-hidden in the underbrush: A withered leaf, in phantom jest, Has nestled in it like a thrush With weary, palpitating breast.
West of Dubbo the west begins The land of leisure and hope and trust, Where the black man stalks with his dogs and gins And Nature visits the settlers' sins With the Bogan shower, that is mostly dust. ...
Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet, Whereon we may sit In the quiet evening hours. ...
A wonderful joy our eyes to bless, In her magnificent comeliness, Is an English girl of eleven stone two, And five foot ten in her dancing shoe! She follows the hounds, and on she pounds -...
The English soil! - 'tis hallowed ground: Its restless children roam The world, but they have never found So dear a land as home; Their passion for its hills and downs Nor space nor time can spoil;...
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet,...
The scriptures affirm (as I heard in my youth, For indeed I ne'er read them, to speak for once truth) That death is the wages of sin, but the just Shall die not, although they be laid in the dust....
In your indignation what mercy appears, While Jonathan's threaten'd with loss of his ears; For who would not think it a much better choice, By your knife to be mangled than rack'd with your voice....
For two years you went Through all the worst of it, Men fell around you, but you did not fall. On the Somme when the air was a sea Of contesting flashes and clouds of smoke,...
I had seen flowers come in stony places And kind things done by men with ugly faces, And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races, Ao I trust, too.
You saw our wife was chaste, yet thoroughly tried, And, without doubt, ye are hugely edified; For, like our hero, whom we show'd to-day, You think no woman true, but in a play....