#Australians #Women
In the olive darkness of the sally… silently moved the air from night… The summer-grass was thick with ho… where he, a curled god, a red Jupi… heavy with power among his women l…
When summer days grow harsh my thoughts return to my river, fed by white mountain springs, beloved of the shy bird, the bellb… whose cry is like falling water.
In the vine-shadows on the veranda… under the yellow leaves, in the co… sit two sisters. Their slow voices… like little winter creeks, dwindle… and the square of sunlight moves o…
Once as I travelled through a qui… I saw a pool, jet-black and mirror… Beyond, the slender paperbarks sto… each on its own white image looked… and nothing moved but thirty egret…
Now let the draughtsman of my eyes… marking the line of petal and of h… Let the long commentary of the bra… be silent. Evening and the earth a… and bird and tree are simple and s…
Glassed with cold sleep and dazzle… out of the confused hammering dark… I looked and saw under the moon’s… your delicate dry breasts, country… and the small trees on their uncol…
Beside his heavy-shouldered team thirsty with drought and chilled w… he weathered all the striding year… till they ran widdershins in his b… Till the long solitary tracks
South of my days’ circle, part of… rises that tableland, high delicat… of bony slopes wincing under the w… low trees, blue—leaved and olive,… clean, lean, hungry country. The c…
The small blue Arab stallion danc… like a glancing breaker, like a st… In his prick-ears, the wind, that… sings of the dunes of Arabia, lion… The small blue stallion poses like…
Under the death of winter’s leaves… who cried to Nothing and the terri… to be his home and bread. ‘O take… the weight and waterfall ceaseless… that batters down my weakness; the…
I saw our golden years on a black… our time of love spilt in the furi… ‘O we are winter-caught, and we mu… said the dark dream, ‘and time is… —And woke into the night; but you…
All things conspire to hold me fro… even my love, since that would mask you and unna… till merely woman and man we live. All men wear arms against the rebe…
The moon drained white by day lifts from the hill where the old pear-tree fallen in… springs up in blossom still. Women believe in the moon:
We meet and part now over all the… we, the lost company, take hands together in the night,… the night in our brief happiness,… We, who sought many things, throw…
If the year is meditating a suitab… I should like it to be the attitud… of my great—great—grandmother, legendary devotee of the arts, who having eight children