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Henry Kendall's Poetry, by title

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  • Here in this gold-green evening end,
    While air is soft and sky is clear,
    24 lines, 1 comment
  • On that bold hill, against a broad blue stream,
    stood Arthur Phillip on a day of dream;
    10 lines
  • The hut was built of bark and shrunken slabs,
    That wore the marks of many rains, and showed
    219 lines, 1 comment
  • You may have heard of Proclus, sir,
    If you have been a reader;
    108 lines
  • Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet
    Of thunder and the wildering wings of rain
    14 lines, 5 comments
  • From Andalusian gardens
    I bring the rose and rue,
    40 lines
  • Feet of the flying, and fierce
    Tops of the sharp-headed spear,
    40 lines, 3 comments
  • HATH he not followed a star through the darkness,
    Ye people who sit at the table of Jephthah?
    32 lines
  • The song that once I dreamed about,
    The tender, touching thing,
    80 lines
  • Underneath the windy mountain walls
    Forth we rode, an eager band,
    19 lines
  • A splendid sun betwixt the trees
    Long spikes of flame did shoot,
    65 lines
  • I walked through a Forest, beneath the hot noon,
    On Etheline calling and calling!
    22 lines
  • Lo! in storms, the triple-headed
    Hill, whose dreaded
    48 lines
  • Take this rose, and very gently place it on the tender, deep
    Mosses where our little darling, Araluen, lies asleep.
    40 lines, 3 comments
  • River, myrtle rimmed, and set
        Deep amongst unfooted dells—
    77 lines
  • ACROSS the dripping ridges,
    O, look, luxurious night!
    40 lines, 1 comment
  • AT DUSK, like flowers that shun the day,
        Shy thoughts from dim recesses break,
    48 lines
  • They built his mound of the rough, red ground,
    By the dip of a desert dell,
    32 lines
  • To-night a strong south wind in thunder sings
    Across the city. Now by salt wet flats,
    78 lines, 1 comment
  • FIVE years ago! you cannot choose
        But know the face of change,
    73 lines
  • Who cometh from fields of the south
    With raiment of weeping and woe,
    48 lines
  • Men have said that ye were sleeping—
    Hurl, Australians, back the lie;
    48 lines
  • SING, mountain-wind, thy strong, superior song—
    Thy haughty alpine anthem, over tracts
    167 lines
  • By channels of coolness the echoes are calling,
    And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling;
    48 lines, 11 comments
  • Amongst the thunder-splintered caves
    On Ocean's long and windy shore,
    36 lines
  • Wild-eyed woodlands, here I rest me, underneath the gaunt and ghastly trees;
    Underneath fantastic-fronted caverns crammed with many a muffled breeze.
    40 lines
  • DOWN in the South, by the waste without sail on it—
    Far from the zone of the blossom and tree—
    90 lines
  • The Leaders of millions, the lords of the lands,
    Who sway the wide world with their will
    92 lines
  • No song is this of leaf and bird,
    And gracious waters flowing;
    104 lines
  • KATE, they say, is seventeen—
    Do not count her sweet, you know.
    72 lines
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