Charles Harpur

(23 January 1813 – 10 June 1868 / Windsor, New South Wales)

Charles Harpur Poems

1. The Drowned Alive 1/1/2004
2. How Full Of God 1/1/2004
3. Dawn In The Mountains 4/12/2010
4. Dreams Of The Beloved 4/12/2010
5. The Bush Fire 4/12/2010
6. To The Moon [earlier Version] 4/12/2010
7. Virginal Love 4/12/2010
8. Wordsworth 4/12/2010
9. Finality 4/12/2010
10. The Creek Of The Four Graves 1/1/2004
11. The End Of The Book 1/1/2004
12. To James Norton Esq. 1/1/2004
13. Forward Ho! 1/1/2004
14. Love, Dreaming Of Death 1/1/2004
15. Song! 1/1/2004
16. Monodies 1/1/2004
17. Song 1/1/2004
18. Gray 4/12/2010
19. Modern Poetry 4/12/2010
20. The Verse Of Coleridge’s ‘christobel’ 4/12/2010
21. The Hunter's Indian Dove 4/12/2010
22. My Political Belief 4/12/2010
23. Marvellous Martin 4/12/2010
24. Emblems 4/12/2010
25. This Southern Land Of Ours 4/12/2010
26. To —— 4/12/2010
27. Yes 4/12/2010
28. Records Of Romantic Passion 4/12/2010
29. Eva Gray 4/12/2010
30. Freedom In Faith 4/12/2010
31. Memory's Genesis 4/12/2010
32. Poetry 4/12/2010
33. To The Comet Of 1843 1/1/2004
34. John Heki 1/1/2004
35. Fragments From 'Genius Lost' 1/1/2004
36. Music 1/1/2004
37. Downward, Through The Blooming Roofage 4/12/2010
38. Greatness 1/1/2004
39. Life And Death 1/1/2004
40. Joshua 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Charles Harpur

A Midsummer Noon In The Australian Forest

A MIDSUMMER NOON IN THE AUSTRALIAN FOREST

Not a bird disturbs the air!
There is quiet everywhere;
Over plains and over woods
What a mighty stillness broods.

Even the grasshoppers keep
[All the birds and insects keep]
Where the coolest shadows sleep;
Even the busy ants are found
Resting in their pebbled mound;
Even the locust clingeth now
In silence to the barky bough:
And over hills and over plains
Quiet, vast and slumbrous, reigns.

Only there's a drowsy humming
From yon warm lagoon slow coming:
'Tis the dragon-hornet ...

Read the full of A Midsummer Noon In The Australian Forest

The Drowned Alive

I was one so deeply drowned,
That when the drag my body found,
Twas void of motion, void of breath,
And to sensation dead as death.
In a languid summer mood
I had plunged into a flood,
That to the low sun’s slanting beams
Gleamed with only quiet gleams,
Each with a wide flicker sheeting

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