an anthology of australian verse-第15章
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Flies the last swallow；
To come again； my love； to come again
Blithe with the summer。
But Ah！ the long months ere we welcome then
That bright new comer。
Cold lie the flowers and dead
Where leaves are falling。
Meekly they bowed and sped
At Autumn's calling。
To come again； my love； to come again
Blithe with the swallow。
Ah！ might I dreaming lie at rest till then；
Or rise and follow！
The summer blooms are gone；
And bright birds darting；
Cold lies the earth forlorn；
And we are parting。
To meet again； my love； to meet again
In deathless greeting；
But ah！ what wintry bitterness of pain
Ere that far meeting！
Distant Authors
〃Aqui esta encerrada el alma licenciado Pedro Garcias。〃
Dear books！ and each the living soul；
Our hearts aver； of men unseen；
Whose power to strengthen； charm； control；
Surmounts all earth's green miles between。
For us at least the artists show
Apart from fret of work…day jars：
We know them but as friends may know；
Or they are known beyond the stars。
Their mirth； their grief； their soul's desire；
When twilight murmuring of streams；
Or skies far touched by sunset fire；
Exalt them to pure worlds of dreams；
Their love of good； their rage at wrong；
Their hours when struggling thought makes way；
Their hours when fancy drifts to song
Lightly and glad as bird…trills may；
All these are truths。 And if as true
More graceless scrutiny that reads；
〃These fruits amid strange husking grew；〃
〃These lilies blossomed amongst weeds；〃
Here no despoiling doubts shall blow；
No fret of feud； of work…day jars。
We know them but as friends may know；
Or they are known beyond the stars。
John Bernard O'Hara。
Happy Creek
The little creek goes winding
Thro' gums of white and blue；
A silver arm
Around the farm
It flings； a lover true；
And softly； where the rushes lean；
It sings （O sweet and low）
A lover's song；
And winds along；
How happy lovers know！
The little creek goes singing
By maidenhair and moss；
Along its banks
In rosy ranks
The wild flowers wave and toss；
And ever where the ferns dip down
It sings （O sweet and low）
A lover's song；
And winds along；
How happy lovers know！
The little creek takes colour；
From summer skies above；
Now blue； now gold；
Its waters fold
The clouds in closest love；
But loudly when the thunders roll
It sings （nor sweet； nor low）
No lover's song；
But sweeps along；
How angry lovers know！
The little creek for ever
Goes winding； winding down；
Away； away；
By night； by day；
Where dark the ranges frown；
But ever as it glides it sings；
It sings （O sweet and low）
A lover's song；
And winds along；
How happy lovers know！
A Country Village
Among the folding hills
It lies； a quiet nook；
Where dreaming nature fills
Sweet pages of her book；
While through the meadow flowers
She sings in summer hours；
Or weds the woodland rills
Low…laughing to the brook。
The graveyard whitely gleams
Across the soundless vale；
So sad； so sweet； yet seems
A watcher cold and pale
That waits through many springs
The tribute old Time brings；
And knows； though life be loud；
The reaper may not fail。
Here come not feet of change
From year to fading year；
Ringed by the rolling range
No world…wide notes men hear。
The wheels of time may stand
Here in a lonely land；
Age after age may pass
Untouched of change or cheer；
As still the farmer keeps
The same dull round of things；
He reaps and sows and reaps；
And clings； as ivy clings；
To old…time trust； nor cares
What science does or dares；
What lever moves the world；
What progress spreads its wings。
Yet here； of woman born；
Are lives that know not rest；
With fierce desires that scorn
The quiet life as best；
That see in wider ways
Life's richer splendours blaze；
And feel ambition's fire
Burn in their ardent breast。
Yea； some that fain would know
Life's purpose strange and vast；
How wide is human woe；
What wailing of the past
Still strikes the present dumb；
What phantoms go and come
Of wrongs that cry aloud；
〃At last； O God！ at last！〃
Here； too； are dreams that wing
Rich regions of Romance；
Love waking when the Spring
Begins its first wild dance；
Love redder than the rose；
Love paler than the snows；
Love frail as corn that tilts
With morning winds a lance。
For never land so lone
That love could find not wings
In every wind that's blown
By lips of jewelled springs；
For love is life's sweet pain；
And when sweet life is slain
It finds a radiant rest
Beyond the change of things。
Beyond the shocks that jar；
The chance of changing fate；
Where fraud and violence are；
And heedless lust and hate；
Yet still where faith is clear；
And honour held most dear；
And hope that seeks the dawn
Looks up with heart elate。
Flinders
He left his island home
For leagues of sleepless foam；
For stress of alien seas；
Where wild winds ever blow；
For England's sake he sought
Fresh fields of fame； and fought
A stormy world for these
A hundred years ago。
And where the Austral shore
Heard southward far the roar
Of rising tides that came
From lands of ice and snow；
Beneath a gracious sky
To fadeless memory
He left a deathless name
A hundred years ago。
Yea； left a name sublime
From that wild dawn of Time；
Whose light he haply saw
In supreme sunrise flow；
And from the shadows vast；
That filled the dim dead past；
A brighter glory draw；
A hundred years ago。
Perchance； he saw in dreams
Beside our sunlit streams
In some majestic hour
Old England's banners blow；
Mayhap； the radiant morn
Of this great nation born；
August with perfect power；
A hundred years ago。
We know not； yet for thee
Far may the season be；
Whose harp in shameful sleep
Is soundless lying low！
Far be the noteless hour
That holds of fame no flower
For those who dared our deep
A hundred years ago。
M。 A。 Sinclair。
The Chatelaine
I have built one； so have you；
Paved with marble； domed with blue；
Battlement and ladies' bower；
Donjon keep and watchman's tower。
I have climbed； as you have done；
To the tower at set of sun
Crying from its parlous height；
〃Watchman； tell us of the night。〃
I have stolen at midnight bell；
Like you； to the secret cell；
Shuddering at its charnel breath
Left lockfast the spectre； Death。
I have used your lure to call
Choice guests to my golden hall：
Rarely welcome； rarely free
To my hospitality。
In a glow of rosy light
Hours； like minutes； take their flight
As from you they fled away；
When； like you； I bade them stay。
Ah！ the pretty flow of wit；
And the good hearts under it；
While the wheels of life go round
With a most melodious sound。
Not a vestige anywhere
Of our grim familiar； Care
Roses！ from the trees of yore
Blooming by the rivers four。
Not a jar； and not a fret；
Ecstasy and longing met。
But why should I thus define
Is not your chateau like mine？
Scarcely were it strange to meet
In that magic realm so sweet；
So！ I'll take this dreamland train
Bound for my chateau in Spain。
Sydney Jephcott。
Chaucer
O gracious morning eglantine；
Making the far old English ways divine！
Though from thy stock our mateless rose was bred；
Staining the world's skies with its red；
Our garden gives no scent so fresh as thine；
Sweet； thorny…seeming eglantine。
White Paper
Smooth white paper 'neath the pen；
Richest field that iron ploughs；
Germinating thoughts of men；
Though no heaven its rain allows；
Till they ripen； thousand fold；
And our spirits reap the corn；
In a day…long dream of gold；
Food for all the souls unborn。
Like the murmur of the earth；
When we listen stooping low；
Like the sap that sings in mirth；
Hastening up the trees that grow；
Evermore a tiny song
Sings the pen unto it； while
Thought's elixir flows along；
Diviner than the holy Nile。
Greater than the sphering sea；
For it holds the sea and land；
Seed of all ideas to be
Down its current borne like sand。
How our fathers in the dark
Pored on it the plans obscure；
By star…light or stake…fires stark
Tracing there the path secure。
The poor paper drawn askance
With the spell of Truth half…known；
Holds back Hell of ignorance；
Roaring round us； thronged； alone。
O white list of champions；
Spirit born； and schooled for fight；
Mailed in armour of the sun's
Who shall win our utmost right！
Think of paper lightly sold；
Which few pence had made too dear
On its blank to have enscrolled
Beatrice； Lucifer； or Lear！
Think of paper Milton took；
Written； in his hands to feel；
Musing of what things a look
Down its pages would reveal。
O the glorious Heaven wrought
By Cadmean souls of yore；
From pure element of thought！
And thy leaves they are its door！
Light they open； and we stand
Past the sovereignty of Fate；
Glad amongst them； calm and grand；
The Creators and Create！
Splitting
Morning。
Out from the hut at break of day；
And up the hills in the dawning grey；
With the young wind flowing
From the blue east； growing
Red with the white sun's ray！
Lone and clear as a deep…bright dream
Under mid…night's and mid…slumber's stream；
Up rises the mount against the sunrise shower；
Vast as a kingdom； fair as a flower：
O'er it doth the foam of foliage ream
In vivid softness serene；
Pearly…purple and marble green；
Clear in their mingling tinges；
Up away to the crest that fringes
Skies studded with cloud…crags sheen。
Day。
Like birds frayed from their lurking…shaw；
Like ripples fleet 'neath a furious flaw；
The echoes re…echo； flying
Down from the mauls hot…plying；
Clatter the axes； grides the saw。
Ruddy and white the chips out…spring；
Like money sown by a pageant king；
The free wood yields to the driven wedges；
With its white sap…edges；
And heart in the sunshine glistening。
Broadly the ice…clear azure floods down；
Where the great tree…tops are overthrown；
As on through the endless day we labour；
The sun for our nearest neighbour；
Up o'er the mountains lone。
And so intensely it doth illume；
That it shuts by times to gloom；
