Kenneth Slessor Poems
|54.||The Country Ride||4/1/2010|
|58.||The Night Ride||4/1/2010|
|59.||The Old Play||4/1/2010|
|60.||Thief Of The Moon||1/1/2004|
|62.||To A Friend||4/1/2010|
|64.||To The Poetry Of Hugh Mccrae||4/1/2010|
|65.||Toilet Of A Dandy||4/1/2010|
|68.||Vesper-Song Of The Reverend Samuel Marsden||4/1/2010|
Time that is moved by little fidget wheels
Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.
Between the double and the single bell
Of a ship's hour, between a round of bells
From the dark warship riding there below,
I have lived many lives, and this one life
Of Joe, long dead, who lives between five bells.
Deep and dissolving verticals of light
Ferry the falls of moonshine down. Five bells
Coldly rung out in a machine's voice. Night and water
Pour to one rip of darkness, the Harbour floats
In the air, the Cross hangs upside-down in water. ...
Thief Of The Moon
Thief of the moon, thou robber of old delight,
Thy charms have stolen the star-gold, quenched the moon-
Cold, cold are the birds that, bubbling out of night,
Cried once to my ears their unremembered tune-
Dark are those orchards, their leaves no longer shine,
No orange's gold is globed like moonrise there-
O thief of the earth's old loveliness, once mine,
Why dost thou waste all beauty to make thee fair?