Poets From Australia

"Proud Queen of isles! Thou sittest vast, alone, A host of vassals bending round thy throne: Like some fair swan that skims the silver tide, Her silken cygnets strew'd on every side, So floatest thou, thy Polynesian brood Dispers'd around thee on thy Ocean flood, While ev'ry surge that doth thy bosom lave, Salutes thee "Empress of the Southern Wave.""

"And, oh Britannia! should'st thou cease to ride Despotic Empress of old Ocean's tide;— Should thy tam'd Lion—spent his former might— No longer roar, the terror of the fight:— Should e'er arrive that dark, disastrous hour, When, bow'd by luxury, thou yield'st to pow'r; When thou, no longer freest of the free, To some proud victor bend'st the vanquish'd knee;— May all thy glories in another sphere Relume, and shine more brightly still than here; May this—thy last-born —then arise, To glad thy heart, and greet thy eyes; And float, with flag unfurl'd, A new in another world!"

"One flower is always best; And, hidden near the nest, One bird of all the brood Will sanctify the wood."

"What shall I wish you Robbie Croll— A girl, a book, or wine? For sages tell, who these control Shall taste of the divine.A star-eyed girl—a mouth of rose To kiss and cling and sigh, The houri Moslem heaven bestows When true believers die?A book of song, of youth and love, And joy refined by pain— That breathes of beauty gone above Ere Time could Love arraign?Or purple wine that holds the fire Flung by enamoured suns, That thrills the blood, and stirs the lyre, And sybils makes of nuns?Yea, take them all, the book and girl— But stint the luring cup, For there, like Cleopatra's pearl, My soul has shrivelled up."

"The popular idea of an advocate of women's rights is this:—she is an angular hard-featured withered creature with a shrill, harsh voice, no pretence to comeliness, spectacles on nose, and the repulsive title, "blue-stocking" visible all over her. Metaphorically she is supposed to hang half way over the bar which separates the sexes, shaking her skinny fist at men and all their works. I don't think it will be difficult to unseat this idea as soon as we can get people to think about the subject at all, for it is remarkable that almost every thinking man who does investigate the topic seriously, at once hands in his allegiance."

"The cruel girls we loved Are over forty. Their subtle daughters Have stolen their beauty; And with a blue stare Of cool surprise, They mock their anxious mothers With their mothers' eyes."

"And Anzac now is an enchanted shore;A tragic splendor, and a holy name;A deed eternity will still acclaim;A loss that crowns the victories of yore;A glittering golden dome for evermoreShining above the minarets of fame."

"She trips along the street, a flashing wonder, Dazzling enigma! Courtesan or maid? Temple of chastity, or hall of trade? An angel-presence, or a soul of plunder Casting the doors of sanctitude asunder? A beauteousness, by love and laughter swayed, Or death in immemorial masquerade? A dainty dawn-song, or a snarl of thunder?"

"The workers of Kembla, those leaders of men, Those leaders of deed as in thought. They challenged the might of the pound and the yen, And there at the 'Delfram' they fought The cause of the Chinese distraught. And still marching onward, With gaze lifted sunward, The call of Eureka is caught. Democracy thrills at that message of yore, The vow of Eureka has echoed once more."

"There’s a version of Lindsay’s life story that is defined by the men in her life. She was the daughter of a judge and the granddaughter of a state governor. She was married to painter , the director of the between 1942 and 1956, and later knighted for his services to the arts. Novelist was her cousin, was her drawing teacher and her friend launched Picnic at Hanging Rock."

"... it was written as a mystery, and it remains a mystery. ... like dropping a stone into water ..."

"Had Lindsay not written ', she might now be simply described as the enigmatic and charming wife of – artist and director of the – hostess of their rural mansion , a minor writer and artist renowned for her skills in hospitality and flower arrangement."

"Everyone agreed that the day was just right for the picnic to — a shimmering summer morning warm and still, with s shrilling all through breakfast from the outside the dining-room windows and bees murmuring above the pansies bordering the drive. ... The boarders at Mrs Appleby's College for Young Ladies had been up and scanning the bright unclouded sky since six o'clock and were now fluttering about in their holiday s like a flock of excited butterflies. Not only was it a Saturday and the long awaited occasion of the annual picnic, but Saint Valentine's Day, traditionally celebrated on the fourteenth of February by the interchange of elaborate cards and favours."

"O radiant Land! o'er whom the sun's first dawning Fell brightest when God said, "Let there be light"; O'er whom the day hung out its bluest awning Flushed to white deeps of star-lustre by night!"

"Why didst thou mask the radiant smile thou wearest? Why wert thou veiled from all the eager eyes? Why left so long, O first of lands and fairest, Beneath thy tent of unconjectured skies?"

"Sleep Heart of Gold! 'Twas not in vain You loved the struggling and the poor, And taught, in sweet and strenuous strain To battle and endure. The lust of wealth, the pride of place, Were not a light to guide thy feet, But larger hopes and wider space For hearts to beat."

"I can't say I ever knew the lady."

"They ain't no blooming angels And they ain't no blackguards, too, But simply human beings Most remarkable like you."

"Whalers, damper, swag and nosebag, Johnny-cakes and billy-tea, Murrumburrah, Meremendicoowoke, Yoularbudgeree, Cattle-duffers, bold bushrangers, diggers, drovers, bush race-courses, And on all the other pages horses, horses, horses, horses."

"As I came over Livingstone The day was like a flame, But suddenly I saw below, Far and far and far below, The shining roofs of Omeo, And said its singing name."

"Captain Murray, if you please, Make it hours instead of days, You know, it becomes an Irishman To drown the shamrock when he can."

"Farewell Tasmania's isle! I bid adieu The possum and the kangaroo. Farmers' Glory! Prisoners' Hell! Land of Buggers! Fare ye well."

"My name is Frank MacNamara, A native of Cashell, County Tipperary, Sworn to be a tyrant's foe And while I've life I'll crow."

"It is well within the order of things That man should listen when his mate sings; But the true male never yet walked Who liked to listen when his mate talked."

"A Book of Sermons underneath the Bough, A Bag of Buns, some ginger-ale, and Thou Preaching beside me in the wilderness — The wilderness were Paradise enow!"

"The parson said: "Your sinful Past Will make for you a fiery rod." I smiled, and thought upon the vast Amused indifference of God."

"When 'the little folk' meet by the red rowan tree The dance shall be stayed in the ring on the plot While they twine in his green Irish isle of the sea The wreath we forgot."

"I do not crave the boon Of Immortality; I do not want the moon, Nor yet the rainbow's key.I do not yearn for wings, Or fins to swim the sea; I merely want the things That are not good for me."

"Could the Resurrection be I had wished it but for Thee For though all things rose changed and new Thou wouldst rise unchanged and true And cash at once my I.O.U."

"Here I can sit at ease on days of rain, And read my Rabelais and my Montaigne, Self-centred as a solitary star That has no satellites its peace to mar. Society salutes me with salaam, For I am single — thank the Lord I am!"

"I make or mar. My daring hand Explores the entrails of the land, And finds, beneath a greasy hat, An Austral Homer at Cow Flat."

"I do not care for men To point with pride at me; A model citizen I do not wish to be."

"Life is a web with many broken ends: Then why, O friend, be sad? Good is not near so good as it pretends; Bad is not half so bad."

"There's rest and peace in plenty here, and eggs and milk to spare; The scenery is calm and sane, and wholesome is the air; The folk are kind, the cows behave like cousins unto me ... But please the Lord, on Monday morn, I'm leaving Arcady."

"When I hear a politician Speak of honours and position, And the time to come when he will sit on high, Then I feel a sovran pity For this species of banditti, Raising trouble while the golden time goes by."

"Other Bards I envy not — Room there is for all, God wot — All I ask is room for me On the top branch of the tree."

"A man of talent and of clean good sense, Who speaks with polished air — On silver floods of his own eloquence He floats to God knows where."

"Reid was neither federal nor anti-federal but either at need and as far as possible both at once. It is difficult indeed to describe so extraordinary a man without appearing to caricature him ..."

"He seldom, if ever, fought with an axe. His weapon was the rapier..."

"The Missionary labours With zeal, and pious art, And rice, and cabin biscuit, In hope to change his heart;And dear old British ladies The Lord would fain cajole, And humbly crave that He will save This poor old savage soul."

"Ah apple caused man's fall, as some believe; But that old Snake, malevolently wise, A deadlier snare set when he left to Eve His tongue of honey and mesmeric eyes."

"The narrow, thorny path he trod. "Enter into My joy," said God. The sad ascetic shook his head; "I've lost all taste for joy," he said."

"Six days he does no work, and The seventh takes for rest."

"Must we all in grovel wallow Like to bisons in a bog — Must we call him an Apollo If he is not quite a hog?"

"I'd sooner talk to a man than a woman any day. Ten minutes exhausts them."

"If beings of Mythology Could live at my commands I'd choose to be, Who had a hundred hands: And every hand of mine Would hold a pint of wine."

"Long ago I did discover It was fine to be a lover, But the heartache and the worry spoil the game: Now I think, like an old vandal, That the game's not worth the candle— And I know some other vandals think the same."

"One of Sir Henry Parkes's besetting foibles was a love of associating himself with notables of the day, of whom he devoutly preserved all mementoes, of whom he frequently spoke and with whom he corresponded whenever possible. At the [Federation] Conference of 1890 he managed to introduce with comments a letter from Lecky and to mention by the way that he had been introduced to him by Lord Tennyson."

"O reader, deem me not a sham, For I in purple earnest am!"

"... his politics were a chaos and his career contemptible."