Henry Kendall

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

Henry Kendall Poems

1. James Lionel Michael 1/1/2004
2. Kiama 1/1/2004
3. Achan 1/1/2004
4. To A Mountain 1/4/2003
5. Prefatory Sonnets I 1/4/2003
6. Orara 1/1/2004
7. Rose Lorraine 1/4/2003
8. Billy Vickers 1/1/2004
9. News Of War 1/1/2004
10. Outre Mer 1/4/2003
11. Daniel Henry Deniehy 1/1/2004
12. ~araluen~ 1/1/2004
13. Hy-Brasil 1/4/2003
14. At Euroma 4/7/2010
15. Basil Moss 4/7/2010
16. Bellambi's Maid 4/7/2010
17. Bill The Bullock-Driver 4/7/2010
18. Australia Vindex 4/7/2010
19. Black Kate 4/7/2010
20. By The Cliffs Of The Sea 4/7/2010
21. Cleone 4/7/2010
22. Coogee 4/7/2010
23. Cooranbean 4/7/2010
24. Cui Bono? 4/7/2010
25. Daphne 4/7/2010
26. Dedication 4/7/2010
27. Deniehy’s Dream 4/7/2010
28. Deniehy’s Lament 4/7/2010
29. Doubting 4/7/2010
30. Drowned At Sea 4/7/2010
31. Campaspe 4/7/2010
32. Camped By The Creek 4/7/2010
33. Caroline Chisholm 4/7/2010
34. Christmas Creek 4/7/2010
35. Eighteen Hundred And Sixty-Four 4/7/2010
36. Elijah 4/7/2010
37. Euterpe 4/7/2010
38. Euterpe: A Cantanta 4/7/2010
39. Extempore Lines 4/7/2010
40. Faith In God 4/7/2010

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Best Poem of Henry Kendall

The Last Of His Tribe

He crouches, and buries his face on his knees,
And hides in the dark of his hair;
For he cannot look up to the storm-smitten trees,
Or think of the loneliness there -
Of the loss and the loneliness there.

The wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass,
And turn to their coverts for fear;
But he sits in the ashes and lets them pass
Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear -
With the nullah, the sling and the spear.

Uloola, behold him! The thunder that breaks
On the tops of the rocks with the rain,
And the wind which drives up with the...

Read the full of The Last Of His Tribe

Araluen

Take this rose, and very gently place it on the tender, deep
Mosses where our little darling, Araluen, lies asleep.
Put the blossom close to baby -- kneel with me, my love, and pray;
We must leave the bird we've buried -- say good-bye to her to-day;
In the shadow of our trouble we must go to other lands,
And the flowers we have fostered will be left to other hands.
Other eyes will watch them growing -- other feet will softly tread
Where two hearts are nearly breaking, where so many

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