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Showing: 1-10 results of 897

ANONYMOUS. 1. Madrigal. Love not me for comely grace,For my pleasing eye or face;Nor for any outward part,No, nor for my constant heart:For those may fail or turn to ill,So thou and I shall sever:Keep therefore a true woman's eye,And love me still, but know not why;So hast thou the same reason stillTo doat upon me ever. 1609 Edition. MATTHEW ARNOLD. 2. The Forsaken Merman. Come, dear children, let us away;Down and away below.Now... more...

They who maintained their rights,Through storm and stress,And walked in all the waysThat God made known,Led by no wandering lights,And by no guess,Through dark and desolate daysOf trial and moan:Here let their monumentRise, like a wordIn rock commemorativeOf our Land's youth;Of ways the Puritan went,With soul love-spurredTo suffer, die, and liveFor faith and truth.Here they the corner-stoneOf Freedom laid;Here in their hearts' distressThey lit... more...

KALIDASA—HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS I Kalidasa probably lived in the fifth century of the Christian era. This date, approximate as it is, must yet be given with considerable hesitation, and is by no means certain. No truly biographical data are preserved about the author, who nevertheless enjoyed a great popularity during his life, and whom the Hindus have ever regarded as the greatest of Sanskrit poets. We are thus confronted with one of... more...

INTRODUCTION Sassoon the Man In appearance he is tall, big-boned, loosely built. He is clean-shaven, pale or with a flush; has a heavy jaw, wide mouth with the upper lip slightly protruding and the curve of it very pronounced like that of a shrivelled leaf (as I have noticed is common in many poets). His nose is aquiline, the nostrils being wide and heavily arched. This characteristic and the fullness, depth and heat of his dark eyes give him... more...

I PRELUDE: THE TROOPS Dim, gradual thinning of the shapeless gloomShudders to drizzling daybreak that revealsDisconsolate men who stamp their sodden bootsAnd turn dulled, sunken faces to the skyHaggard and hopeless. They, who have beaten downThe stale despair of night, must now renewTheir desolation in the truce of dawn,Murdering the livid hours that grope for peace. Yet these, who cling to life with stubborn hands,Can grin through storms of... more...

Foreword My young friend Dennis has honoured me with a request to write a preface to his book. I think a man can best write a preface to his own book, provided he knows it is good. Also if he knows it is bad. "The Sentimental Bloke", while running through the Bulletin, brightened up many dark days for me. He is more perfect than any alleged "larrikin" or Bottle-O character I have ever attempted to sketch, not even excepting my own beloved... 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 fitful gleams of poetic fire suggestive of... more...

AN A D D R E S S TO ALLWell provided Hibernians. Gentlemen,   S Nature hath been so very Indulgent to ye, as to stock your Gardens with Trees of the largest Growth, for which Reason ye are caress'd, whilst Men of less Parts, tho' in some Things more deserving, are laugh'd at, and excluded all Company. As all Infants, especially of the Female Sex, are much delighted with Fruit, so as their Years and other Appetites increase, no Wonder... more...

Rio Grande's Last Race Now this was what Macpherson toldWhile waiting in the stand;A reckless rider, over-bold,The only man with hands to holdThe rushing Rio Grande.He said, 'This day I bid good-byeTo bit and bridle rein,To ditches deep and fences high,For I have dreamed a dream, and IShall never ride again.'I dreamt last night I rode this raceThat I to-day must ride,And cant'ring down to take my placeI saw full many an old friend's faceCome... more...

IN MEMORIAM. (A. L. Gordon.) At rest! Hard by the margin of that seaWhose sounds are mingled with his noble verse,Now lies the shell that never more will houseThe fine, strong spirit of my gifted friend.Yea, he who flashed upon us suddenly,A shining soul with syllables of fire,Who sang the first great songs these lands can claimTo be their own; the one who did not seemTo know what royal place awaited himWithin the Temple of the Beautiful,Has... more...