Rod Quinn

How many years, how many years have fled,
Since in the cool dim parlour sat the three
Lawson and I and, lounging easily,
The beaming indolent poet! Then instead
Of labouring weary at the mill, we led
The careless life of wanderers, frank and free,
And had the wealth of a new-found world in fee:
How pitiless time gropes on with tireless tread!
A glass was raised, and golden liquor glowed
When a ray from summer streets came piercing in;
He drank the sunlight in the gloomy place!
And now I know the magic drink bestowed
A vital golden splendour on Roderic Quinn,
Which fumbling fingers of Time will scarce efface.

John Le Gay Brereton

John Le Gay Brereton was an Australian poet, critic, and professor of English who was born on September 2, 1871, and died on February 2, 1933. He is best known for his association with the Bulletin school of Australian poetry and for promoting Australian literature. Brereton's contributions to poetry and literary criticism made him a significant figure in early 20th-century Australian literature. His academic career also included a long tenure at the University of Sydney.

John Le Gay Brereton

The Explorer

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

The Sea Maid

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

Winter

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

ANZAC

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

English

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Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Domain

The bulging cloud mounts lazily
In shade where sunlight glances through,
And sweeping lightly from the tree
Melts indolently in the blue.

The scanty grass-blades yonder shake,
A tremulous flurry takes the smoke,
And ancient memories start awake
At pungent scent of fig and oak.

For here of old an urchin strayed
And gloomed in lonely pride the while,
An outlaw in a forest glade
Or pirate on a tropic isle.

Here where a staid policeman strolls
Ned Kelly in his armour stood,
And underneath the roadway rolls
The river of the Haunted Wood.

And yonder, couched in phantom fern,
Not far from Nelsons rolling ship,
I spied the antlerd head of Herne
And saw the startled rabbit skip.

And Will Wing shook in desperate strife...

John Le Gay Brereton

Ballade Of The Absent Guest

Friends whom to-night once more I greet,
Most glad am I with you to be,
And, as I look around, I meet
Many a face right good to see;
But one I miss - ah! where is he? -
Of merry eye and sparkling jest,
Who used to brim my glass for me;
I drink - in what? - the Absent Guest.

Low lies he in his winding-sheet,
By organized hypocrisy
Hurled from his happy wine-clad seat,
Stilled his kind heart and hushed his glee;
His very name daren't mention we,
That good old friend who brought such zest,
And set our tongues and spirits free:
I drink - in what? - the Absent Guest.

No choice to-night 'twixt "dry" or "sweet,"
'Twixt red or white, 'twixt Rye, - ah! me -
Or Scotch - and think! we live to see't -
No whispered word, nor massive fee,
Nor...

Richard Le Gallienne

The Old Bohemian

The world was in my debt,
I was the Friend of Man,
When, years ago, I met
The Old Bohemian.

His hat was shocking bad,
He wore a faded tie,
And yet, withal, he had
A moist and shining eye.

And though his purse was lean,
And though his coat was dyed,
He had a lordly mien
And air of ancient pride.

We sat in a hotel,
And drank the amber ale;
And as I touched the bell
I listened to his tale.

He told me that some day
In his place I would be;
But all the world was gay,
No use in warning me.

He spoke of high Desire
And aspirations true;
And flamed again the fire
In eyes of faded blue.

"By God!" the old man said,
"The days of old were grand;
I painted cities red,
I owned the bles...

Victor James Daley

The Rubaiyat Of Ohow Dryyam With Apologies To Omar

I

Wail! for the Law has scattered into flight
Those Drinks that were our sometime dear Delight;
And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan
New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite.


II

After the phantom of our Freedom died
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried:
"Drink coffee, Lads, for that is all that's left
Since our Land of the Free is washed--and dried."


[Illustration:

And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan
New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite.]


III

The Haigs indeed are gone, and on the Nose
That bourgeoned once with color of the rose
A deathly Pallor sits, while down the lane
Where once strode Johnny Walker--Water goes.


IV

Come, fill the Cup, a...

J. L. Duff

A Ramshackle Room

When the gusts are at play with the trees on the lawn,
    And the lights are put out in the vault of the night;
When within all is snug, for the curtains are drawn,
    And the fire is aglow and the lamps are alight,
Sometimes, as I muse, from the place where I am
    My thoughts fly away to a room near the Cam.

'Tis a ramshackle room, where a man might complain
    Of a slope in the ceiling, a rise in the floor;
With a view on a court and a glimpse on a lane,
    And no end of cool wind through the chinks of the door;
With a deep-seated chair that I love to recall,
    And some groups of young oarsmen in shorts on the wall.

There's a fat jolly jar of tobacco, some pipes -
    A meerschaum, a briar, a cherry, a clay -
There's a three-handled cup fit for Aud...

R. C. Lehmann

To C. C. C.

Oh for the nights when we used to sit
    In the firelight's glow or flicker,
With the gas turned low and our pipes all lit,
    And the air fast growing thicker;

When you, enthroned in the big arm-chair,
    Would spin for us yarns unending,
Your voice and accent and pensive air
    With the narrative subtly blending!

Oh for the bleak and wintry days
    When we set our blood in motion,
Leaping the rocks below the braes
    And wetting our feet in the ocean,

Or shying at marks for moderate sums
    (A penny a hit, you remember),
With aching fingers and purple thumbs,
    In the merry month of December!

There is little doubt we were very daft,
    And our sports, like the stakes, were trifling;
While the air of the room where ...

Robert Fuller Murray