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,...
The Sick Stockrider Adam Lindsay Gordon Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more, and lay me in the shade. Old man, you’ve had your work cut out to guide Both horses, and to hold me in the saddle when I swayed, All through the...
The Romance Of Britomarte Adam Lindsay Gordon I’LL tell you a story ; but pass the ‘jack’, And let us make merry to-night, my men. Aye, those were the days when my beard was black? I like to remember them now and then? Then Miles...
The Roll Of The Kettledrum Adam Lindsay Gordon ‘You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one ?’?Byron. ONE line of swart profiles, and bearded lips dressing, One...
The Rhyme Of Joyous Garde Adam Lindsay Gordon Through the lattice rushes the south wind, dense With fumes of the flowery frankincense From hawthorn blossoming thickly ; And gold is showered on grass unshorn, And poppy-fire on shuddering corn, With May-dew flooded and flushed with...
The Last Leap Adam Lindsay Gordon ALL is over! fleet career, Dash of greyhound slipping thongs, Flight of falcon, bound of deer, Mad hoof-thunder in our rear, Cold air rushing up our lungs, Din of many tongues. Once again, one struggle good, One vain effort;?he...
The Feud: A Border Ballad Adam Lindsay Gordon PLATE I Rixa super mero They sat by their wine in the tavern that night, But not in good fellowship true : The Rhenish was strong and the Burgundy bright, And hotter the argument grew. ‘I asked...
