Henry Kendall

(18 April 1839 – 1 August 1882 / Ulladulla, New South Wales)

Henry Kendall Poems

1. Achan 1/1/2004
2. On The Paroo 4/7/2010
3. Our Jack 4/7/2010
4. For Ever 4/7/2010
5. Ghost Glen 4/7/2010
6. Merope 4/7/2010
7. Intaglio - Frank Denz 4/7/2010
8. The Curse Of Mother Flood 4/7/2010
9. In Memory Of Edward Butler 4/7/2010
10. Ogyges 4/7/2010
11. The Earth Laments For Day 4/7/2010
12. Mount Erebus: (A Fragment) 4/7/2010
13. James Lionel Michael 1/1/2004
14. Caroline Chisholm 4/7/2010
15. Christmas Creek 4/7/2010
16. Daniel Henry Deniehy 1/1/2004
17. Lilith 4/7/2010
18. Ned The Larrikin 4/7/2010
19. In Memoriam -- A. L. Gordon 4/7/2010
20. In Memoriam — Nicol Drysdale Stenhouse 4/7/2010
21. Foreshadowings 4/7/2010
22. Kingsborough 4/7/2010
23. Manasseh 4/7/2010
24. Morning In The Bush 4/7/2010
25. Orara 1/1/2004
26. Outre Mer 1/4/2003
27. Dedication 4/7/2010
28. The Wail In The Native Oak 4/7/2010
29. The Wild Kangaroo 4/7/2010
30. To Miss Annie Hopkins 4/7/2010
31. Bill The Bullock-Driver 4/7/2010
32. Hy-Brasil 1/4/2003
33. Mary Rivers 4/7/2010
34. Leaves From Australian Forests (12 Sonnets) 4/7/2010
35. In Memoriam~ -- Alice Fane Gunn Stenhouse 4/7/2010
36. In Memorium : Adam Lindsay Gordon 4/7/2010
37. John Dunmore Lang 4/7/2010
38. Kiama Revisited 4/7/2010
39. Jim The Splitter 4/7/2010
40. In The Depths Of A Forest 4/7/2010
Best Poem of Henry Kendall

Aboriginal Death Song

Feet of the flying, and fierce
Tops of the sharp-headed spear,
Hard by the thickets that pierce,
Lo! they are nimble and near.
Women are we, and the wives
Strong Arrawatta hath won;
Weary because of our lives,
Sick of the face of the sun.

Koola, our love and our light,
What have they done unto you?
Man of the star-reaching sight,
Dipped in the fire and the dew.

Black-headed snakes in the grass
Struck at the fleet-footed lord—
Still is his voice at the pass,
Soundless his step at the ford.

Far by the ...

Read the full of Aboriginal Death Song

Kooroora

The gums in the gully stand gloomy and stark,
A torrent beneath them is leaping,
And the wind goes about like a ghost in the dark
Where a chief of Wahibbi lies sleeping!
He dreams of a battle -- of foes of the past,
But he hears not the whooping abroad on the blast,
Nor the fall of the feet that are travelling fast.
Oh, why dost thou slumber, Kooroora?

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