Roderic Quinn

(1867 - 1949 / Australia)

Roderic Quinn Poems

41. The Dread Beyond Death 4/16/2010
42. The Gardener 4/16/2010
43. The Camp Within The West 1/1/2004
44. Shell-Music 4/16/2010
45. The Sea-Seekers 4/16/2010
46. The Secret Pool 4/16/2010
47. The Lovers' Walk 4/16/2010
48. The Frontier-Land 4/16/2010
49. The Fiddle And The Crowd 4/16/2010
50. The Golden Yesterday 4/16/2010
51. The Lagoon 4/16/2010
52. The Song Of The Violin 4/16/2010
53. Mid-Forest Fear 1/1/2004
54. The Surrender 4/16/2010
55. Sydney Cove, 1788 4/16/2010
56. The Song Of The Cicadas 1/1/2004
57. The Scarlet Cloak 4/16/2010
58. The Currency Lass 4/16/2010
59. Noon On The Barrier Ranges 4/16/2010
60. The Hidden Heart 4/16/2010
61. At Her Door 4/16/2010
62. In September 4/16/2010
63. By Momba Tracks 4/16/2010
64. Homeward Going 4/16/2010
65. By The Quay 4/16/2010
66. Garden Street 4/16/2010
67. A Song Of Winds 4/16/2010
68. Drovers Twain 4/16/2010
69. God's Answer 4/16/2010
70. At Dawn 4/16/2010
71. At End Of A Holiday 4/16/2010
72. The Fisher 4/16/2010
73. The Twenty-Fifth Of April 4/16/2010
74. After Drafting 4/16/2010
75. Arnold Rode Behind 4/16/2010
76. Bequeathal 4/16/2010
77. Australia's Vision 4/16/2010
78. Acushla 4/16/2010
79. All Of A Piece 4/16/2010
80. The Soul Of The Anzac 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Roderic Quinn

A Song Of Keats

'TIS a tarnished book and old,
Edges frayed and covers green!
But, between the covers, gold —
Gold and jewels in between.
And this written (see, O see!
How old Time has made it dim)
'For one song Keats gave to me
I kneel down and worship him.'
He who wrote these lines is dust;
All of him is passed away;
Some hand closed his eyes, I trust,
Drew the blind to darken day.
Did lips kiss him at the end,
Love-lips tremulous yet brave?
Had he mistress, child, or friend
To sow green grass upon his grave?
Nay, we know not — it is long
Since he tired of ...

Read the full of A Song Of Keats

The Circling Hearths

MY Countrymen, though we are young as yet
With little history, nought to show
Of lives enleagued against a foreign foe,
Torn flags and triumph, glory or regret;
Still some things make our kinship sweet,
Some deeds inglorious but of royal worth,
As when with tireless arms and toiling feet
We felled the tree and tilled the earth.

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