Henry Kendall

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

Henry Kendall Poems

161. The Ivy On The Wall 4/7/2010
162. The Last Of His Tribe 1/1/2004
163. The Late W. V. Wild, Esq. 4/7/2010
164. The Maid Of Gerringong 4/7/2010
165. The Melbourne International Exhibition 4/7/2010
166. The Merchant Ship 4/7/2010
167. The Muse Of Australia 1/1/2004
168. The Old Year 4/7/2010
169. The Opossum-Hunters 4/7/2010
170. The Rain Comes Sobbing To The Door 4/7/2010
171. The River And The Hill 1/1/2004
172. The Song Of Arda: (From “annatanam”.) 4/7/2010
173. The Song Of Ninian Melville 4/7/2010
174. The Sydney International Exhibition 4/7/2010
175. The Voice In The Wild Oak 4/7/2010
176. The Voyage Of Telegonus 4/7/2010
177. The Wail In The Native Oak 4/7/2010
178. The Warrigal 4/7/2010
179. The Waterfall 4/7/2010
180. The Wild Kangaroo 4/7/2010
181. To - - 4/7/2010
182. To A Mountain 1/4/2003
183. To Damascus 4/7/2010
184. To Henry Halloran 4/7/2010
185. To Miss Annie Hopkins 4/7/2010
186. To My Brother, Basil E. Kendall 4/7/2010
187. To The Spirit Of Music 4/7/2010
188. Ulmarra 4/7/2010
189. Under The Figtree 4/7/2010
190. Urara 4/7/2010
191. Waiting And Wishing 4/7/2010
192. Wamberal 4/7/2010
193. Watching 4/7/2010
194. When Underneath The Brown Dead Grass 4/7/2010
195. William Bede Dalley 4/7/2010
196. Wollongong 4/7/2010
Best Poem of Henry Kendall

The Last Of His Tribe

He crouches, and buries his face on his knees,
And hides in the dark of his hair;
For he cannot look up to the storm-smitten trees,
Or think of the loneliness there -
Of the loss and the loneliness there.

The wallaroos grope through the tufts of the grass,
And turn to their coverts for fear;
But he sits in the ashes and lets them pass
Where the boomerangs sleep with the spear -
With the nullah, the sling and the spear.

Uloola, behold him! The thunder that breaks
On the tops of the rocks with the rain,
And the wind which drives up with the...

Read the full of The Last Of His Tribe

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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