Christopher John Brennan

(1 November 1870 – 5 October 1932 / Sydney / Australia)

Christopher John Brennan Poems

1. Under A Sky Of Uncreated Mud 3/1/2010
2. When Summer Comes In Her Glory 3/1/2010
3. Of Old, On Her Terrace At Evening 3/1/2010
4. When The Spring Mornings Grew More Long 3/1/2010
5. Spring-Ripple Of Green Along The Way 3/1/2010
6. White Dawn, That Tak'st The Heaven With Sweet Surprise 3/1/2010
7. The Winter Eve Is Clear And Chill 3/1/2010
8. Liminary 3/1/2010
9. Interlude: The Window And The Hearth 3/1/2010
10. Mdcccxciii: A Prelude 3/1/2010
11. The Watch At Midnight 3/1/2010
12. Was It The Sun That Broke My Dream 3/1/2010
13. Old Wonder Flush'D The East Anew 3/1/2010
14. The Grand Cortège Of Glory And Youth Is Gone 3/1/2010
15. The Twilight Of Disquietude 3/1/2010
16. O White Wind, Numbing The World 1/1/2004
17. Quis Pro Domino 1/1/2004
18. The Yellow Gas 1/1/2004
19. Sweet Silence After Bells 1/1/2004
20. Poppies 1/4/2003
21. Romance 1/4/2003
22. Spring Breezes 1/1/2004
23. Deep Mists Of Longing Blur The Land 3/1/2010
24. Dies Dominica! The Sunshine Burns 3/1/2010
25. Droop'st Thou And Fail'st? But These Have Never Tired 3/1/2010
26. And Shall The Living Waters Heed 3/1/2010
27. Black On The Depths 3/1/2010
28. An Hour's Respite 3/1/2010
29. Interlude: The Hearth And The Window 3/1/2010
30. Summer Noon 1/1/2004
31. Dawns Of The World, How I Have Known You All... 3/1/2010
32. Interlude: The Casement 3/1/2010
33. 1897 3/1/2010
34. Four Springtimes Lost: And In The Fifth We Stand 3/1/2010
35. And Does She Still Perceive 3/1/2010
36. Ii. The Quest Of Silence 3/1/2010
37. My Heart Was Wandering In The Sands 1/1/2004
38. I Saw My Life As Whitest Flame 3/1/2010
39. Come Out, Come Out 3/1/2010
40. How Old Is My Heart, How Old? 3/1/2010
Best Poem of Christopher John Brennan

Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her

If questioning would make us wise
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.

Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.

For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?

Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I ...

Read the full of Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her

Autumn

Autumn: the year breathes dully towards its death,
beside its dying sacrificial fire;
the dim world's middle-age of vain desire
is strangely troubled, waiting for the breath
that speaks the winter's welcome malison
to fix it in the unremembering sleep:
the silent woods brood o'er an anxious deep,
and in the faded sorrow of the sun,
I see my dreams' dead colours, one by one,

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