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The Poems Of Henry Kendall Part 50

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(The sea that breaks, and beats and shakes The caverns, howling loud, Beyond the midnight Myall Lakes,*

And half-awakened Stroud!)**

-- * A chain of lakes near Port Stephens, N.S.W.

** A town on the Karuah, which flows into Port Stephens.

There, through the fretful autumn days, Beneath a cloudy sun, Comes rolling down rain-rutted ways, The wind, Euroclydon!



While rattles over riven rocks The thunder, harsh and dry; And blustering gum and brooding box Are threshing at the sky!

And then the gloom doth vex the sight With crude, unshapely forms Which hold throughout the yelling night A fellowship with storms!

But here are shady tufts and turns, Where sumptuous Summer lies (By reaches brave with flags and ferns) With large, luxuriant eyes.

And here, another getteth ease-- Our Spring, so rarely seen, Who shows us in the cedar trees A glimpse of golden green.

What time the flapping bats have trooped Away like ghosts to graves, And darker growths than Night are cooped In silent, hillside caves.

Ah, Dungog, dream of darling days, 'Tis better thou should'st be A far-off thing to love and praise-- A boon from Heaven to me!

For, let me say that when I look With wearied eyes on men, I think of one unchanging nook, And find my faith again.

Deniehy's Lament

Spirit of Loveliness! Heart of my heart!

Flying so far from me, Heart of my heart!

Above the eastern hill, I know the red leaves thrill, But thou art distant still, Heart of my heart!

Sinning, I've searched for thee, Heart of my heart!

Sinning, I've dreamed of thee, Heart of my heart!

I know no end nor gain; amongst the paths of pain I follow thee in vain, Heart of my heart!

Much have I lost for thee, Heart of my heart!

Not counting the cost for thee, Heart of my heart!

Through all this year of years thy form as mist appears, So blind am I with tears, Heart of my heart!

Mighty and mournful now, Heart of my heart!

Cometh the Shadow-Face, Heart of my heart!

The friends I've left for thee, their sad eyes trouble me-- I cannot bear to be, Heart of my heart!

Deniehy's Dream

Just when the western light Flickered out dim, Flushing the mountain-side, Summit and rim, A last, low, lingering gleam Fell on a yellow stream, And then there came a dream Shining to him.

Splendours miraculous Mixed with his pain All like a vision of Radiance and rain!

He faced the sea, the skies, Old star-like thoughts did rise; But tears were in his eyes, Stifled in vain.

Infinite tokens of Sorrows set free Came in the dreaming wind Far from the sea!

Past years about him trooped, Fair phantoms round him stooped, Sweet faces o'er him drooped Sad as could be!

"This is our brother now: Sisters, deplore Man without purpose, like Ship without shore!

He tracks false fire," one said, "But weep you--he must tread Whereto he may be led-- Lost evermore."

"Look," said another, "Summit and slope Burn, in the mountain-land-- Basement and cope!

Till daylight, dying dim, Faints on the world's red rim, We'll tint this Dream for him Even--with hope!"

Cui Bono?

A clamour by day and a whisper by night, And the Summer comes--with the shining noons, With the ripple of leaves, and the passionate light Of the falling suns and the rising moons.

And the ripple of leaves and the purple and red Die for the grapes and the gleam of the wheat, And then you may pause with the splendours, or tread On the yellow of Autumn with lingering feet.

You may halt with the face to a flying sea, Or stand like a gloom in the gloom of things, When the moon drops down and the desolate lea Is troubled with thunder and desolate wings.

But alas for the grey of the wintering eves, And the pondering storms and the ruin of rains; And alas for the Spring like a flame in the leaves, And the green of the woods and the gold of the lanes!

For, seeing all pathos is mixed with our past, And knowing all sadness of storm and of surge Is salt with our tears for the faith that was cast Away like a weed o'er a bottomless verge,

I am lost for these tokens, and wearied of ways Wedded with ways that are waning amain, Like those that are filled with the trouble that slays; Having drunk of their life to the lees that are pain.

And yet I would write to you! I who have turned Away with a bitter disguise in the eyes, And bitten the lips that have trembled and burned Alone for you, darling, and breaking with sighs.

Because I have touched with my fingers a dress That was Beauty's; because that the breath of thy mouth Is sweetness that lingers; because of each tress Showered down on thy shoulders; because of the drouth

That came in thy absence; because of the lights In the Passion that grew to a level with thee-- Is it well that our lives have been filled with the nights And the days which have made it a sorrow to be?

Yea, thus having tasted all love with thy lips, And having the warmth of thy hand in mine own, Is it well that we wander, like parallel ships, With the silence between us, aloof and alone?

With my face to the wall shall I sleep and forget The shadow, the sweet sense of slumber denies, If even I marvel at kindness, and fret, And start while the tears are all wet in mine eyes?

Oh, darling of mine, standing here with the Past, Trampled under our feet in the bitterest ways, Is this speech like a ghost that it keeps us aghast On the track of the thorns and in alien days?

When I know of you, love, how you break with our pain, And sob for the sorrow of sorrowful dreams, Like a stranger who stands in the wind and the rain And watches and wails by impassable streams:

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The Poems Of Henry Kendall Part 50 summary

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