Sydney Elliott Napier

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Sydney Elliott Napier Poems

JUST as of yore the friendly rain
Patters its old and frank refrain;
Just as of yore the world swings by
The little window where I lie
...

IMPLACABLE as are thy arctic floes;
Grim and gigantic as thy mountain height;
Girt with thy pines for spindles and the light
Of pale auroras for thy stars; to those
...

OH, golden-lilied Queen—immortal France!
Thou heritress of storied name and deed,
As thou hast pluck’d, so oft, from cumb’ring weed
The fragrant flow’rs of Freedom and Romance,
...

‘ALL men are free and equal born
Before the Law!’ So runs the worn
And specious, lying, parrot-cry.
All men are free—to starve or sigh;
...

Sydney Elliott Napier Biography

Sydney Napier Elliott was an Australian writer and poet Biography Napier was born in Sydney, New South Wales and educated at Newington College and Sydney University. He began his working life as a bank clerk with the AJS Bank in Burwood, New South Wales. From 1893 he was a jackeroo in Manilla, New South Wales, until he was articled to a solicitor in Tamworth in 1894. After 1899 he worked as a solicitor in Sydney. During World War I, Napier served with the 41st Battalion of the AIF as a sergeant. In 1925, Napier joined the Sydney Morning Herald. He subsequently became assistant editor of The Sydney Mail and leader-writer of the Sydney Morning Herald where in 1931 he compiled, with P S Allen, A Century of Journalism: The Sydney Morning Herald and Its Record of Australian Life 1831-1931. He contributed prose and verse to numerous English and Australian journals and newspapers, and published a collection of essays, The Magic Carpet in 1932.)

The Best Poem Of Sydney Elliott Napier

Mater Dolorosa

JUST as of yore the friendly rain
Patters its old and frank refrain;
Just as of yore the world swings by
The little window where I lie
Watching the shadows wax and wane.

I see, beyond the Aegean main,
His cross upon the grave-scarred plain—
Yet still the dawn-flush climbs the sky,
Just as of yore!

His cross—and mine! They try in vain
With careful phrase to stanch the pain;
They say, ‘A hero’s death!’ But I
Long only for his footstep nigh;
Long only for my boy again,
Just as of yore!

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