Henry Kendall

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

Henry Kendall Poems

121. King Saul At Gilboa 4/7/2010
122. Euroclydon 4/7/2010
123. Bob 4/7/2010
124. The Bereaved One 4/7/2010
125. The Far Future 4/7/2010
126. Wollongong 4/7/2010
127. The Curlew Song 4/7/2010
128. The Melbourne International Exhibition 4/7/2010
129. Eighteen Hundred And Sixty-Four 4/7/2010
130. Black Kate 4/7/2010
131. Waiting And Wishing 4/7/2010
132. The Voice In The Wild Oak 4/7/2010
133. Prefatory Sonnets I 1/4/2003
134. Extempore Lines 4/7/2010
135. Galatea 4/7/2010
136. Safi 4/7/2010
137. Euterpe 4/7/2010
138. Doubting 4/7/2010
139. God Help Our Men At Sea 4/7/2010
140. To The Spirit Of Music 4/7/2010
141. Deniehy’s Lament 4/7/2010
142. Harps We Love 4/7/2010
143. On A Baby Buried By The Hawkesbury 4/7/2010
144. Drowned At Sea 4/7/2010
145. Passing Away 4/7/2010
146. Blue Mountain Pioneers 4/7/2010
147. Dungog 4/7/2010
148. The Barcoo 1/1/2004
149. Basil Moss 4/7/2010
150. Ella With The Shining Hair 4/7/2010
151. By The Sea 4/7/2010
152. Song Of The Shingle-Splitters 1/1/2004
153. September In Australia 1/4/2003
154. Rose Lorraine 1/4/2003
155. Black Lizzie 4/7/2010
156. Sutherland’s Grave 4/7/2010
157. Bellambi's Maid 4/7/2010
158. Sydney Harbour 4/7/2010
159. Clari 4/7/2010
160. A Birthday Trifle 4/7/2010

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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, ...

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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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