John Alexander Ross McKellar Poems

Cross bars and posts, the echo of distant bells,
The cool and friendly scent of whispering turf;
And in the air a little wind that tells
Of moonlit waves beyond a murmuring surf.
...

Ten years ago I climbed a hill,
And there I climbed a tree,
So, through the mist and raining, watched
The troopships go to sea.
...

Down on the floor, among the waving bronze
Of weeds, and threading lilies' roots, are fish;
And on the surface, flowers, leaves and swans.
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Only the creaking murmur of the wheel,
The trembling of the engines as they turn;
The ferry glides upon an even keel,
And Pinchgut squats in shadow hard astern. . . .
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A sweet Franciscan of the Lands
Sir Thomas Mitchell stares and stands
Indifferent to the gentle words
Of Bass, befriended of the birds
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The Marquis looks towards the lighted stage;
One hand is his; the lover's lips engage
The other, while the lady stands between,
Calm in her beauty, smiling and serene.
...