Adam Lindsay Gordon Poems

The ocean heaves around us still
With long and measured swell,
The autumn gales our canvas fill,
Our ship rides smooth and well.
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‘WHERE shall we go for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year,
When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad,
When the boughs are yellow and sere?
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Here's a health to every sportsman, be he stableman or lord,
If his heart be true, I care not what his pocket may afford;
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[A Preface and a Piracy]

PROLOGUE

OF borrow’d plumes I take the sin,
My extracts will apply
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Aye, snows are rife in December,
And sheaves are in August yet,
And you would have me remember,
And I would rather forget ;
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With short, sharp violent lights made vivid,
To the southward far as the sight can roam,
Only the swirl of the surges livid,
The seas that climb and the surfs that comb,
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From Dawn to Dusk

DAWN

ON skies still and starlit
White lustres take hold,
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They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less
Of sound than of words,
In lands where bright blossoms are scentless,
And songless bright birds;
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[From a Picture]

The sun has gone down, spreading wide on
The sky-line one ray of red fire ;
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Dramatis Personae
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