George Essex Evans
George Essex Evans was an Australian poet.
Evans was born in London on 18 June 1863. Both his parents were Welsh. Evans's father, John Evans, Q.C., died in 1864 when Evans was only a few months old. John Evans, who was the Treasurer of the Inner Temple and a member of the House of Commons, left his family a fortune of 60 000 pounds. The fortune did not last very long. Consequently, Evans was raised and educated by his mother Mary Ann (née Owen), who was one of the Bowens of Llwynwair, an old Welsh family. Mary Ann was an educated woman, fluent in both Latin and Greek. The family lived in Haverfordwest in Pembrokeshire where Evans attended Haverfordwest Grammar... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
George Essex Evans Poems
The Women of the West
They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill, The houses in the busy streets where life is never still, The pleasures of the city, and the friends they cherished best: For love they faced the wilderness -- the Women of the West.
Like weary sea-birds spent with flight And faltering, The slow hours beat across the night On leaden wing.
An Australian Symphony
Not as the songs of other lands Her song shall be Where dim Her purple shore-line stands Above the sea!
THE BOY went out from the ranges grim, And the breath of the mountains went with him; With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,
Nature feels the touch of noon; Not a rustle stirs the grass; Not a shadow flecks the sky, Save the brown hawk hovering nigh;
At The Base Hospital
The willows sweep the water, and the rushes lean a-down, And I see the river shining far away,
The pen falls from his nerveless hand, The light is fading from his eyes, The brain that nobly served his land Darkens and dies.
By The Sea
Bright skies of summer o’er the deep, And soft salt air along the land, The blue wave, lisping in its sleep, Sinks gently on the yellow sand;
In Collins Street
I stood in the heart of the city street, I felt the throb of her pulses beat, The thunder of life on the sunny air,
The gentle heart that hated wrong, The courage that all ills withstood, The seeing eye, the mighty song That stirred us into Nationhood,
IT WAS on the fourth of August, as five hundred of us lay In the camp at Eland’s River, came a shell from De La Rey—
O for a vision of the perfect light To shame the splendour of the morning star! O for a breath from out the Infinite
Lux In Tenebris
When first the Gods, whose Empire is eternal, In Time’s deep chalice poured Life’s sacred wine, Flashed all the crystal cup with fire supernal;
A Commonplace Song
Ebbs and flows the restless river In the city street Where the great nerve centres quiver, Where the pulses beat.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Women of the West
They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill,
The houses in the busy streets where life is never still,
The pleasures of the city, and the friends they cherished best:
For love they faced the wilderness -- the Women of the West.
The roar, and rush, and fever of the city died away,
And the old-time joys and faces -- they were gone for many a day;
In their place the lurching coach-wheel, or the creaking bullock chains,
O'er the everlasting sameness of the never-ending plains.
In the slab-built, zinc-roofed homestead of some lately taken ...