The Heart of Australia (Henry Lawson Poem)
When the wars of the world seemed ended, and silent the distant drum, Ten years ago in Australia, I wrote ...
When the wars of the world seemed ended, and silent the distant drum, Ten years ago in Australia, I wrote ...
Gone now the baby's nurse, a lioness who ruled the roost and made the Mother cry. She used to tie ...
Above the portico a flag-staff, bearing the Union Jack, remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately when ...
How should I praise thee, Lord! how should my rhymes Gladly engrave thy love in steel, If what my soul ...
A shiver with the room a shudder as they lied denying the truth plain to our sight Wondering aloud what ...
The shadow of the hawk swooped across my window, breaking my concentration for a moment Above the oak, still bare ...
He reads my latest attempt at a poem and is silent for a long time, until it feels like that ...
Evening falls on palace walls shaded by flowering trees, with cry of birds flying past on their way to roost. ...
Out alone in the winter rain, Intent on giving and taking pain. But never was I far out of sight ...
The three stood listening to a fresh access Of wind that caught against the house a moment, Gulped snow, and ...
Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney ...
As loving hind that (hartless) wants her deer, Scuds through the woods and fern with hark'ning ear, Perplext, in every ...
Because it all just breaks apart, and the pieces scatter and rearrange without much fanfare or notice. Because you can't ...
THROUGH the black, rushing smoke-bursts, Thick breaks the red flame. All Etna heaves fiercely Her forest-clothed frame. Not here, O ...
Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts, Thick breaks the red flame. All Etna heaves fiercely Her forest-clothed frame. Not here, O ...
Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts, Thick breaks the red flame; All Etna heaves fiercely Her forest-clothed frame. Not here, O ...
WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour, Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, Far south ...
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe ...
A dream tree, Polly's tree: a thicket of sticks, each speckled twig ending in a thin-paned leaf unlike any other ...
Oh the airman's game is a showman's game, for we all of us watch him go With his roaring soaring ...
Alas! Lord and Lady Dalhousie are dead, and buried at last, Which causes many people to feel a little downcast; ...
On eves of cold, when slow coal fires, rooted in basements, burn and branch, brushing with smoke the city air; ...
In borrowed boots which don't fit and an old olive greatcoat, I hunt the corn-fed rabbit, game fowl, squirrel, starved ...
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