Poetry Books

"Less than the Dust" Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,Even less than these! Less than the weed, that grows beside thy door,Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee,Less than the need thou hast in life of me.Even less am I. Since I, O Lord, am nothing unto thee,See here thy Sword, I... more...

No description available

No one can have reflected on the history of genius without being impressed with a melancholy feeling at the obscurity in which the lives of the poets of our country are, with few exceptions, involved. That they lived, and wrote, and died, comprises nearly all that is known of many, and, of others, the few facts which are preserved are often records of privations, or sufferings, or errors. The cause of... more...

PREFACE. The Publishers offer in this little volume well known and long loved stories to their young readers. The tales which have delighted the children of many generations will, they feel assured, be equally welcome in the nurseries of the present day, which, with the popularity and antiquity of the contents of the volume, justify them in styling it The National Nursery Book. Once upon a time there... more...

PREFACE There are two great traditions of womanhood. One presents the Madonna brooding over the mystery of motherhood; the other, more confusedly, tells of the acolyte, the priestess, the clairvoyante of the unknown gods. This latter exists complete in herself, a personality as definite and as significant as a symbol. She is behind all the processes of art, though she rarely becomes a conscious artist,... more...

A VISION.vision came! It was not in the hourOf sleep; but when the unresisted powerOf magic Fancy, threw, with full control,Her half prophetic mantle o’er the soul.The place was thron’d like Britain’s royal halls,And her proud navy deck’d the tap’stried walls.Statesmen and heroes grac’d the pictur’d scene;Fathers who were what since their sons have been;And some whose laurell’d brows... more...

Nuts Crazy as a cashew.Unbelievably lucky, I keep my job,live alone,lead a lucky life. Always the same old job,17 years of it. Go nowhere.Be nobody.Do nothing. Sheer luxury. They got to me. They drove meoff the deep end. But I’m luckywith my label,and my safe job. Shame I’m nuts.Blissful,lucky,shame. Mind Stew Boil, boil, andon it stews,the broth that cooks,on the stovethat is my mind. Ideas bob... more...

THALASSIUSUpon the flowery forefront of the year,One wandering by the grey-green April seaFound on a reach of shingle and shallower sandInlaid with starrier glimmering jewelleryLeft for the sun's love and the light wind's cheerAlong the foam-flowered strandBreeze-brightened, something nearer sea than landThough the last shoreward blossom-fringe was near,A babe asleep with flower-soft face... more...

REVERENCE TO GANESHA!"The sky is clouded; and the wood resemblesThe sky, thick-arched with black Tamâla boughs;O Radha, Radha! take this Soul, that tremblesIn life's deep midnight, to Thy golden house."So Nanda spoke,—and, led by Radha's spirit,The feet of Krishna found the road aright;Wherefore, in bliss which all high hearts inherit,Together taste they Love's divine delight.... more...

Biographical Note Henry Kendall was the first Australian poet to draw his inspiration from the life, scenery and traditions of the country. In the beginnings of Australian poetry the names of two other men stand with his—Adam Lindsay Gordon, of English parentage and education, and Charles Harpur, born in Australia a generation earlier than Kendall. Harpur's work, though lacking vitality, shows... more...