Whisperings In Wattle-Boughs 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...
Verses Inspired By ‘My Old Black Pipe’ Adam Lindsay Gordon Aye ! Many a sport old Homer names. By Achilles held ‘ at his little games ‘, On the banks of the swift Scamander ; And Pindar sings the Olympian deeds Of the ivory car...
Unshriven Adam Lindsay Gordon Oh ! the sun rose on the lea, and the bird sang merrilie, And the steed stood ready harnessed in the hall. And he left his lady’s bower, and he sought the eastern tower, And he lifted cloak and weapon from...
To My Sister Adam Lindsay Gordon On 4th August, 1853. Being three days before he sailed for Australia. Across the trackless seas I go, No matter when or where, And few my future lot will know, And fewer still will care. My hopes are gone,...
To A Proud Beauty (‘A Valentine’) Adam Lindsay Gordon Though I have loved you well, I ween, And you, too, fancied me, Your heart hath too divided been A constant heart to be. And like the gay and youthful knight, Who loved and rode away,...
Thora’s Song (‘Ashtaroth’) 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 sundered one misty morning Ere the hills were dimmed by the...
Thick-Headed Thoughts Adam Lindsay Gordon No. I I’ve something of the bull-dog in my breed, The spaniel is developed somewhat less ; While life is in me I can fight and bleed, But never the chastising hand caress. You say the stroke was well intended....
The Three Friends Adam Lindsay Gordon The sword slew one in deadly strife ; One perished by the bowl ; The third lies self-slain by the knife ; For three the bells may toll? I loved her better than my life, And better than my...
The Swimmer 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,...
The Song Of The Surf Adam Lindsay Gordon White steeds of ocean, that leap with a hollow and wearisome roar On the bar of ironstone steep, not a fathom’s length from the shore, Is there never a seer nor sophist can interpret your wild refrain,...
