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. The Verse Of Coleridge’s ‘christobel’ 4/12/2010
20. The Hunter's Indian Dove 4/12/2010
21. Emblems 4/12/2010
22. Marvellous Martin 4/12/2010
23. Modern Poetry 4/12/2010
24. My Political Belief 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. Poetry 4/12/2010
30. Memory's Genesis 4/12/2010
31. Eva Gray 4/12/2010
32. Freedom In Faith 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

Early Summer

’Tis the early summer season, when the skies are clear and blue;
When wide warm fields are glad with corn as green as ever grew,
And upland growths of wattles engolden all the view.
Oh! Is there conscious joyance in that heven so clearly blue?
And is it a felt happiness that thus comes beating through
Great nature’s mother heart, when the golden year is new?

When the woods are whitened over by the jolly cockatoo,
And swarm with birds as beautiful as ever gladdened through

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