David McKee Wright
David McKee Wright was an Irish-born poet and journalist, active in New Zealand and Australia.
Wright was born in the town of Ballynaskeagh, County Down, Ireland, on 6 August 1869, the second son of William Wright, a Presbyterian missionary, and his wife, Annie McKee. His mother remained only briefly in Ireland following his birth and he was cared for by his grandmother, Rebecca McKee, until his parents returned from missionary work in Syria. Annie Wright died in 1877, shortly after the family had moved to London.
David was educated at the Glascar School, Ballynaskeagh, then at Pope's School, London, and the engineering section of the Crystal ... more »
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David McKee Wright Poems
An Old Colonist's Reverie
Dustily over the highway pipes the loud nor'-wester at morn, Wind and the rising sun, and waving tussock and corn; It brings to me days gone by when first in my ears it rang, The wind is the voice of my home, and I think of the songs it sang
He strode across the schoolroom in July, Great Hector, clanging in his brazen mail; And all the cringing Greeks, with faces pale,
In the lands away beyond the sea, where Khan and Sultan rule, Where they drink their coffee thick and black, and sip the sherbet cool, They have white Circassian girls for slaves, as well as the Negro black; And it seems to me in our free land that slavery's coming back:
I came up to-night to the station, the tramp had been longish and cold, My swag ain't too heavy to carry, but then I begin to get old. I came through this way to the diggings -- how long will that be ago now? Thirty years! how the country has altered, and miles of it under the plough,
There's a sound of many voices in the camp and on the track, And letters coming up in shoals to stations at the back; And every boat that crosses from the sunny 'other side' Is bringing waves of shearers for the swelling of the tide.
In the Moonlight
The moon is bright, and the winds are laid, and the river is roaring by; Orion swings, with his belted lights low down in the western sky; North and south from the mountain gorge to the heart of the silver plain There’s many an eye will see no sleep till the east grows bright again;
Mine Own John Poynz
Mine own John Poynz, since ye delight to know The cause why that homeward I me draw, And flee the press of courts, whereso they go, Rather than to live thrall under the awe
Since So ye Please To Hear Me Plain
Since so ye please to hear me plain, And that ye do rejoice my smart, Me list no lenger to remain To such as be so overthwart.
Not every man has gentians in his house in soft September, at slow, sad Michaelmas. Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
Is it Possible?
Is it possible That so high debate, So sharp, so sore, and of such rate, Should end so soon and was begun so late?
They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me S...
They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber. I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember
The Heart and Service
The heart and service to you proffer'd With right good will full honestly, Refuse it not, since it is offer'd, But take it to you gentlely.
Madam, Withouten Many Words
Madam, withouten many words Once I am sure ye will or no ... And if ye will, then leave your bourds And use your wit and show it so,
I Abide and Abide and Better Abide
I abide and abide and better abide, And after the old proverb, the happy day; And ever my lady to me doth say, 'Let me alone and I will provide.'
Comments about David McKee Wright
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
An Old Colonist's Reverie
Dustily over the highway pipes the loud nor'-wester at morn,
Wind and the rising sun, and waving tussock and corn;
It brings to me days gone by when first in my ears it rang,
The wind is the voice of my home, and I think of the songs it sang
When, fresh from the desk and ledger, I crossed the long leagues of sea --
"The old worn world is gone and the new bright world is free."
The wide, wild pastures of old are fading and passing away,
All over the plain are the homes of the men who have come to stay --
I sigh for the good old days in the station whare ...