Fragmentary Scenes From The Road To Avernus Adam Lindsay Gordon Scene I ‘Discontent’ LAURENCE RABY. Laurence: I said to young Allan M’Ilveray, Beside the swift swirls of the North, When, in lilac shot through with a silver ray, We haul’d the strong salmon fish forth...
Finis Exoptatus Adam Lindsay Gordon Boot and saddle, see, the slanting Rays begin to fall, Flinging lights and colours flaunting Through the shadows tall. Onward ! onward ! must we travel ? When will come the goal ? Riddle I may not unravel, Cease to...
Fauconshawe Adam Lindsay Gordon [A Ballad] To fetch clear water out of the spring The little maid Margaret ran, From the stream to the castle’s western wing It was but a bowshot span ; On the sedgy brink where the osiers cling Lay a dead...
Exodus Parthenidae Adam Lindsay Gordon The Lay of the Last Squatter Draw your chair to the fire, old woman, The days are warm, but the nights are cold ; So, they’ve hunted our milkers off the common, And pounded them, calves and all, I’m told....
Early Adieux Adam Lindsay Gordon Adieu to kindred hearts and home, To pleasure, joy, and mirth, A fitter foot than mine to roam Could scarcely tread the earth ; For they are now so few indeed (Not more than three in all), Who e’er will...
Doubtful Dreams Adam Lindsay Gordon Aye, snows are rife in December, And sheaves are in August yet, And you would have me remember, And I would rather forget ; In the bloom of the May-day weather, In the blight of October chill, We were dreamers...
Deliah Adam Lindsay Gordon The sun has gone down, spreading wide on The sky-line one ray of red fire ; Prepare the soft cushions of Sidon, Make ready the rich loom of Tyre. The day, with its toil and its sorrow, Its shade, and its...
De Te Adam Lindsay Gordon A burning glass of burnish’d brass, The calm sea caught the noontide rays, And sunny slopes of golden grass And wastes of weed-flower seem to blaze. Beyond the shining silver-greys, Beyond the shades of denser bloom, The sky-line girt with...
Cui Bono Adam Lindsay Gordon Oh! wind that whistles o’er thorns and thistles, Of this fruitful earth like a goblin elf; Why should he labour to help his neighbour Who feels too reckless to help himself? The wail of the breeze in the bending trees...
Confiteor Adam Lindsay Gordon The shore-boat lies in the morning light, By the good ship ready for sailing ; The skies are clear, and the dawn is bright, Tho’ the bar of the bay is fleck’d with white, And the wind is fitfully wailing ;...
