Henry Kendall Poems

AH, often do I wait and watch,
And look up, straining through the Real
With longing eyes, my friend, to catch
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Rolling through the gloomy gorges, comes the roaring southern blast,
With a sound of torrents flying, like a routed army, past,
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January

The first fair month! In singing Summer’s sphere
She glows, the eldest daughter of the year.
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Turn from the ways of this Woman! Campaspe we call her by name -
She is fairer than flowers of the fire -
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SAID one who led the spears of swarthy Gad,
To Jesse’s mighty son: “My Lord, O King,
I, halting hard by Gibeon’s bleak-blown hill
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With reverent eyes and bowed, uncovered head,
A son of sorrow kneels by fanes you knew;
But cannot say the words that should be said
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Two years had the tiger, whose shape was that of a sinister man,
Been out since the night of escape - two years under horror and ban.
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JUST when the western light
Flickered out dim,
Flushing the mountain-side,
Summit and rim,
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How dazzling the sunbeams awoke on the spray,
When Australia first rose in the distance away,
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LOW as a lute, my love, beneath the call
Of storm, I hear a melancholy wind;
The memorably mournful wind of yore
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