George Essex Evans: Всі вірші поета

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Ode To The Philistines

In an age of Mammon and Greed,

In an age of Humbug and Cant,

Where Speech is greater than Deed

In the reign of the sycophant,

Let us turn from the shameless lips that babble of things Divine,

And shout to the God we know not the Song of the Philistine!

All hail, as you gather and pass

From the mansion and counting-house,

by George Essex Evans

The Doves Of Venus

The dull earth swung in silence o’er,

A dreamless world, a dreary star,

Until the doves of Venus bore

To Thessaly her ivory car.

She whispered to the sea and air,

And lightly with her wand she smote

The solid earth, till everywhere

The birds gave forth a sweeter note.

by George Essex Evans

A Federal Song

IN the greyness of the dawning we have seen the pilot-star,

In the whisper of the morning we have heard the years afar.

Shall we sleep and let them be

When they call to you and me?

Can we break the land asunder God has girdled with the Sea?

For the Flag is floating o’er us,

And the track is clear before us,

From the desert to the ocean, let us lift the mighty chorus

by George Essex Evans

Failure

THE BOY went out from the ranges grim,

And the breath of the mountains went with him;

With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,

And a light in his eyes for a foremost place:

And the good green earth, and the salt sea spray,

And the soft blue skies, they were his that day;

And, like Eden, ringed with a golden fire—

Afar rose the Land of His Heart’s Desire.

by George Essex Evans

The Grey Road

A sun-flash on his mounting wing,

A wild note soaring high—

The lark is up, the minstrel king,

The poet of the sky.

To thrill, to sing of Youth and Spring

Those golden numbers flowed.

What message then

Has he for men

by George Essex Evans

Ad Astra

Weary was I of Earth. My body lay,

Its fires turned down and slaked to faintest heat.

My soul went out into the night away

Where wing hath never beat.

The green earth like a marble ’neath me spun;

The shoreless ether and the island-stars

Rose up before, and sun and mightier sun

Flamed on their chariot bars,

by George Essex Evans

At The Base Hospital

The willows sweep the water, and the rushes lean a-down,

And I see the river shining far away,

With a snowy cloud above it, floating softly, like a crown,

And the water-hen and wildfowl at their play.

Are the magpies still at battle in the crooked appletrees?

Is the ripple flow still singing at the bar,

By the long-grassed sandstone pocket where the cattle lie at ease?

And the sun is on the river at Glenbar.

by George Essex Evans

The Average Man

His hat looks worn, and his coat-sleeves shine,

As I see him step from his ’bus at nine;

His boots are pieced and his tie home-made,

And his trousers patched where the edge was frayed,

And his face is lined by the stress of life

Where a man must fight for his bairns an wife.

“Who’s that?” I ask, as his face I scan.

And the answer comes—“O, an average man.”

by George Essex Evans

On The Plains

Half-lost in film of faintest lawn,

A single star in armour white

Upon the dreamy heights of dawn

Guards dim frontier of the night,

Till plumed ray

And golden spray

Have washed its trembling light away.

The sun has peeped above the blue;

George Essex Evans

By The Sea

Bright skies of summer o’er the deep,

And soft salt air along the land,

The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,

Sinks gently on the yellow sand;

And gray-winged seagulls slowly sweep

O’er scattered bush and white-limbed tree

Where the red cliffs like bastions stand

To front the salvos of the sea,

by George Essex Evans

Australia

Earth's mightiest isle. She stands alone.

The wide seas wash around Her throne,

Crowned by the red sun as his own.

This is the last of all the lands

Where Freedom’s fray-torn banner stands,

Not wrested yet from freemen’s hands.

The world’s gray page lies bare to-day—

The rise of nations—the decay.

by George Essex Evans

A Commonplace Song

Ebbs and flows the restless river

In the city street

Where the great nerve centres quiver,

Where the pulses beat.

Where the human waves are driving

Drifts a woman’s face,

White and worn by ceaseless striving

With the commonplace.

by George Essex Evans