The Robe Of Grass

Here lies the woven garb he wore
Of grass he gathered by the shore
Whereon the phantom waves still fret and foam
And sigh along the visionary sand.
Where is he now? you cry. What desolate land
Gleams round him in dull mockery of home?

You knew him by the robe he cast
About him, grey and worn at last.
It fades, you murmur, changes, lives and dies.
Why has he vanished? Whither is he fled?
And is there any light among the dead?
Can any dream come singing where he lies?

Ah peace! lift up your clouded eyes,
Nor where this curious relic lies
Grope in the blown dust for the print of feet.
Dim, twittering, ghastly sounds are these; but he
Laughs now as ever, still aloof and free,
Eager and wild and passionate and fleet.

Because he has dropped the part he played,
Shall love be baffled and dismayed?
Let the frail earth and all its visions melt,
And let the heart that loves, the eye that sees,
Seek him amid immortal mysteries,
For lo, he dwells where he has ever dwelt.

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 Chain Gang

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

An Epitaph

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

Wilfred

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

The Wounded

John Le Gay Brereton, Simple Poetry

English

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The cold green rocks and lapping waves
Are all my world as here I sit
With downcast eye and heart that craves
The bush and blue sky over it.

The tide of years is washing by,
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David

Eternal cold of silence, where each sound
Dies in its birth, and Deaths pale henchmen meet
With soft Lethean traps unwary feet
Or ride with hells white steed and slavering hound;
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He stood among a crowd at Dromahair;
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And he had known at last some tenderness,
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It Seemed they raised their little silver heads,
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Under that woven changeless roof of boughs:
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In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,
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The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,
To the low last edge of the long lone land.
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We saw the slow tides go and come,
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The weird, low light of rising moons.

On stormy eves from cliff and head
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<...

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