And they shook their sweetness out in their sleep, On the brink of that beautiful stream, But it wandered along with a wearisome song Like a lover that walks in a dream: So the roses blew...
Low as a lute, my love, beneath the call Of storm, I hear a melancholy wind; The memorably mournful wind of yore Which is the very brother of the one That wanders, like a hermit, by the mound...
Who framed the stanza of Childe Harold? He It was who, halting on a stormy shore, Knew well the lofty voice which evermore, In grand distress, doth haunt the sleepless sea...
Ill fares it with the man whose lips are set To bitter themes and words that spite the gods; For, seeing how the son of Saturn sways With eyes and ears for all, this one shall halt...
Where the lone creek, chafing nightly in the cold and sad moonshine, Beats beneath the twisted fern-roots and the drenched and dripping vine; Where the gum trees, ringed and ragged, from the mazy margins rise,...
The Warrigal's lair is pent in bare, Black rocks at the gorge's mouth; It is set in ways where Summer strays With the sprites of flame and drouth; But when the heights are touched with lights...
The rain-clouds have gone to the deep The East like a furnace doth glow; And the day-spring is flooding the steep, And sheening the landscape below. Oh, ye who are gifted with souls...
A handmaid to the genius of thy song Is sweet, fair Scholarship. 'Tis she supplies The fiery spirit of the passioned eyes With subtle syllables, whose notes belong To some chief source of perfect melodies;...
To thee, O father of the stately peaks, Above me in the loftier light to thee, Imperial brother of those awful hills Whose feet are set in splendid spheres of flame,...
I would sit at your feet for long days, To hear the sweet Muse of the Wild Speak out through the sad and the passionate lays Of her first and her favourite Child.
Where the sinister sun of the Syrians beat On the brittle, bright stubble, And the camels fell back from the swords of the heat, Came Saul, with a fire in the soles of his feet, And a forehead of trouble....
You know I left my forest home full loth, And those weird ways I knew so well and long, Dishevelled with their sloping sidelong growth Of twisted thorn and kurrajong. ...
Beneath the shelter of the bush, In undisturbed repose Unruffled by the kiss of breeze There lurks a smiling rose; Beneath thine outer beauty, gleams, In holy light enshrined,...
To-night the sea sends up a gulf-like sound, And ancient rhymes are ringing in my head, The many lilts of song we sang and said, My friend and brother, when we journeyed round...
The cool grass blowing in a breeze Of April valleys sooms and sways; On slopes that dip to quiet seas Through far, faint drifts of yellowing haze. I lie like one who, in a dream...
Like drifts of balm from cedared glens, those darling memories come, With soft low songs, and dear old tales, familiar to our home. Then breathe again that faint refrain, so tender, sad, and true,...