ALOLL in the warm clear water, On her back with languorous limbs, She lies. The baby upon her breas… Paddles and falls and swims. With half-closed eyes she smiles,
BEYOND the Night, down o’er the… I see light’s harbinger of day rel… Upon the false gleam of the ante-d… Lo, the fair heaven of sun-pursuin… Beyond the lampless sleep and peri…
Death? is it death you give? So b… thou hast been long my friend,… cool cheek shall have my kiss, whi… expires on thy still lips, O lovel… Come then, loose hands, fair Life…
‘BE with us by day, by night, O lover, O friend; Hold before us thy light Unto the end!’ See, all these children of ours
In that rich Archipelago of sea With fiery hills, thick woods wher… Browses along the trees, and god-l… Leave monuments of speech too larg… There are strange forest-trees. F…
(For the Ballarat statue of him) THIS is Scotch William Wallace… Who in dark hours first raised his… Who watched the English tyrant No… Steel-clad, with iron hoofs the S…
‘THE foxes have holes, And the birds of the air have nest… But where shall the heads of the s… Be laid, be laid?’ ‘Where the cold corpse rests,
(For the Australian Labour Feder… FLING out the Flag! Let her fla… With the ring of the wild swan’s w… her reedy lair. Fling out the Flag! And let frien…
COME then, let us at least know… Let us not blink our eyes and say We did not understand; old age or… Benumbed our sense or stole our si… It is a lie—just that, a lie—to de…
He asked me of my friend– “a cleve… Such various talent, business, jou… A pen that might some day have sen… From our greatest newspapers.”– “… All this,” I said.– “And yet he w…
CRUEL City, London, London, Where, duped slaves of devils’ cre… Men and women desperate, undone, Dream such dreams, and do such dee… London, London, cruel city,
(With his first book of 'Songs’) ‘MY Sweet, my Child, through all… Of dark and wind and rain, Where thunder crashes, and the lig… Sears the bewildered brain,
BURY me with clenched hands And eyes open wide, For in storm and struggle I lived… And in struggle and storm I died.
“Yes, let Art go, if it must be That with it men must starve - If Music, Painting, Poetry Spring from the wasted hearth!” Yes, let Art go, till once again
(Coral Sea, Australia) DEAD in the sheep-pen he lies, Wrapped in an old brown sail. The smiling blue sea and the skies Know not sorrow nor wail.
