Henry Kendall

(18 April 1839 – 1 August 1882 / Ulladulla, New South Wales)

Henry Kendall Poems

1. On The Paroo 4/7/2010
2. Our Jack 4/7/2010
3. For Ever 4/7/2010
4. Ghost Glen 4/7/2010
5. Merope 4/7/2010
6. The Curse Of Mother Flood 4/7/2010
7. In Memory Of Edward Butler 4/7/2010
8. Intaglio - Frank Denz 4/7/2010
9. Ogyges 4/7/2010
10. The Earth Laments For Day 4/7/2010
11. Mount Erebus: (A Fragment) 4/7/2010
12. James Lionel Michael 1/1/2004
13. Caroline Chisholm 4/7/2010
14. Christmas Creek 4/7/2010
15. Lilith 4/7/2010
16. Ned The Larrikin 4/7/2010
17. In Memoriam -- A. L. Gordon 4/7/2010
18. In Memoriam — Nicol Drysdale Stenhouse 4/7/2010
19. Foreshadowings 4/7/2010
20. Kingsborough 4/7/2010
21. Manasseh 4/7/2010
22. Morning In The Bush 4/7/2010
23. Dedication 4/7/2010
24. Orara 1/1/2004
25. Outre Mer 1/4/2003
26. Daniel Henry Deniehy 1/1/2004
27. The Wail In The Native Oak 4/7/2010
28. The Wild Kangaroo 4/7/2010
29. To Miss Annie Hopkins 4/7/2010
30. Hy-Brasil 1/4/2003
31. Leaves From Australian Forests (12 Sonnets) 4/7/2010
32. John Dunmore Lang 4/7/2010
33. Kiama Revisited 4/7/2010
34. In Memoriam~ -- Alice Fane Gunn Stenhouse 4/7/2010
35. In Memorium : Adam Lindsay Gordon 4/7/2010
36. Jim The Splitter 4/7/2010
37. Mary Rivers 4/7/2010
38. On A Spanish Cathedral 4/7/2010
39. Bill The Bullock-Driver 4/7/2010
40. Ulmarra 4/7/2010
Best Poem of Henry Kendall

Amongst The Roses

I walked through a Forest, beneath the hot noon,
On Etheline calling and calling!
One said: “She will hear you and come to you soon,
When the coolness, my brother, is falling.”
But I whispered: “O Darling, I falter with pain!”
And the thirsty leaves rustled, and hissed for the rain,
Where a wayfarer halted and slept on the plain;
And dreamt of a garden of Roses!
Of a cool sweet place,
And a nestling face
In a dance and a dazzle of Roses.
In the drought of a Desert, outwearied, I wept,
O Etheline, ...

Read the full of Amongst The Roses

James Lionel Michael

BE HIS rest the rest he sought:
Calm and deep.
Let no wayward word or thought
Vex his sleep.
Peace—the peace that no man knows—
Now remains
Where the wasted woodwind blows,
Wakes and wanes.

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