Adam Lindsay Gordon

(19 October 1833 – 24 June 1870 / Azores)

Adam Lindsay Gordon Poems

1. From The Wreck 2/27/2010
2. Part I: Visions In The Smoke 2/27/2010
3. Part Ii: The Fields Of Coleraine 2/27/2010
4. Part Iii: Credat Judaeus Apella 2/27/2010
5. Part Iv: Banker’s Dream 2/27/2010
6. Part V: Ex Fumo Dare Lucem 2/27/2010
7. How We Beat The Favourite 2/27/2010
8. Fauconshawe 2/27/2010
9. Pastor Cum 2/27/2010
10. Podas Okus 2/27/2010
11. Quare Fatigasti 2/27/2010
12. The Feud: A Border Ballad 2/27/2010
13. The Rhyme Of Joyous Garde 2/27/2010
14. The Roll Of The Kettledrum 2/27/2010
15. Thick-Headed Thoughts 2/27/2010
16. To A Proud Beauty ('A Valentine') 2/27/2010
17. Unshriven 2/27/2010
18. Whisperings In Wattle-Boughs 2/27/2010
19. Zu Der Edlen Yagd 2/27/2010
20. In Utrumque Paratus 2/27/2010
21. Hippodromania; Or, Whiffs From The Pipe 9/7/2012
22. Fragmentary Scenes From The Road To Avernus 9/7/2012
23. Scene 1. A Castle In Normandy 9/7/2012
24. 'The Old Leaven' 9/7/2012
25. Scene 3. A Cliff On The Breton Coast, Overhanging The Sea 9/7/2012
26. To My Sister 3/3/2010
27. Lex Talionis 2/27/2010
28. No Name 3/3/2010
29. Sunlight On The Sea 2/27/2010
30. The Three Friends 2/27/2010
31. Verses Inspired By 'My Old Black Pipe' 2/27/2010
32. Rippling Water 2/27/2010
33. Laudamus 2/27/2010
34. The Song Of The Surf 2/27/2010
35. Wormwood And Nightshade 2/27/2010
36. Cito Pede Preterit Aetas 2/27/2010
37. Thora's Song ('Ashtaroth') 1/1/2004
38. The Romance Of Britomarte 2/27/2010
39. Potters' Clay 2/27/2010
40. Ye Wearie Wayfarer 9/7/2012
Best Poem of Adam Lindsay Gordon

An Exile's Farewell

The ocean heaves around us still
With long and measured swell,
The autumn gales our canvas fill,
Our ship rides smooth and well.
The broad Atlantic's bed of foam
Still breaks against our prow;
I shed no tears at quitting home,
Nor will I shed them now!

Against the bulwarks on the poop
I lean, and watch the sun
Behind the red horizon stoop —
His race is nearly run.
Those waves will never quench his light,
O'er which they seem to close,
To-morrow he will rise as bright
As he this morning rose.

How brightly gleams the orb of day
Across ...

Read the full of An Exile's Farewell

Gone

IN Collins Street standeth a statute tall,
A statue tall, on a pillar of stone,
Telling its story, to great and small,
Of the dust reclaimed from the sand waste lone;
Weary and wasted, and worn and wan,
Feeble and faint, and languid and low,
He lay on the desert a dying man;
Who has gone, my friends, where we all must go.

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