All Poems
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The Colours Of Light
© Dorothea Mackellar
This is not easy to understand
For you that come from a distant land
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.
The Witnesses
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Lads in the loose blue,
Crutched, with limping feet,
With bandaged arm, that roam
To--day the bustling street,
Josephs Dreams and Reuben's Brethren [A Recital in Six Chapters]
© Henry Lawson
CHAPTER I
I cannot blame old Israel yet,
The Road to Roundabout
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Some say that Guy of Warwick
The man that killed the Cow,
The Ports of the Open Sea
© Henry Lawson
Down here where the ships loom large in
The gloom when the sea-storms veer,
"O heavens, heavens..."
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
O heavens, heavens, see you in my dreams!
It is impossible -- you had become so blind,
And day was burned as if a page -- to rims:
Some smoke and ashes, one could later find.
The Holy Scriptures
© George Herbert
Oh Book! infinite sweetnesse! let my heart
Suck ev'ry letter, and a hony gain,
Precious for any grief in any part;
To cleare the breast, to mollifie all pain.
To The West Wind
© George Frederick Cameron
WEST wind, come from the west land
Fair and far!
Come from the fields of the best land
Upon our star!
By Momba Tracks
© Roderic Quinn
THE hearts of the everlasting-flowers
Shall steal the gold o' the sun
When the winter rains have done their work
And the winter days are done,
The Mendicants
© Bliss William Carman
We are as mendicants who wait
Along the roadside in the sun.
Tatters of yesterday and shreds
Of morrow clothe us every one.
Sanctuary
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Neighbour! for pity a hound cries on your steps,
With pleading eyes, with sore and weary feet.
Carissima Mea
© Madison Julius Cawein
I look upon my lady's face,
And, in the world about me, see
No face like hers in any place:
_Therefore it is I sing her praise._
My Dream
© John Greenleaf Whittier
In my dream, methought I trod,
Yesternight, a mountain road;
Narrow as Al Sirat's span,
High as eagle's flight, it ran.
The Society Upon The Stanislaus
© Francis Bret Harte
I reside at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
I am not up to small deceit or any sinful games;
And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row
That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow.
