Henry Kendall

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

Henry Kendall Poems

81. In Memoriam — Nicol Drysdale Stenhouse 4/7/2010
82. In Memoriam~ -- Alice Fane Gunn Stenhouse 4/7/2010
83. In Memorium : Adam Lindsay Gordon 4/7/2010
84. In Memory Of Edward Butler 4/7/2010
85. In Memory Of John Fairfax 4/7/2010
86. In The Depths Of A Forest 4/7/2010
87. In The Valley 4/7/2010
88. Intaglio - Frank Denz 4/7/2010
89. James Lionel Michael 1/1/2004
90. Jim The Splitter 4/7/2010
91. John Bede Polding 4/7/2010
92. John Dunmore Lang 4/7/2010
93. Kiama 1/1/2004
94. Kiama Revisited 4/7/2010
95. King Saul At Gilboa 4/7/2010
96. Kingsborough 4/7/2010
97. Kooroora 1/1/2004
98. Leaves From Australian Forests (12 Sonnets) 4/7/2010
99. Leichhardt 4/7/2010
100. Lilith 4/7/2010
101. Lost In The Flood 4/7/2010
102. Lurline (Inscribed To Madame Lucy Escott.) 4/7/2010
103. Manasseh 4/7/2010
104. Mary Rivers 4/7/2010
105. Merope 4/7/2010
106. Mooni 4/7/2010
107. Morning In The Bush 4/7/2010
108. Moss On A Wall 4/7/2010
109. Mount Erebus: (A Fragment) 4/7/2010
110. Mountain Moss 4/7/2010
111. Mountains 4/7/2010
112. Names Upon A Stone: (Inscribed To G. L. Fagan, Esq.) 4/7/2010
113. Narrara Creek 4/7/2010
114. Ned The Larrikin 4/7/2010
115. News Of War 1/1/2004
116. Ogyges 4/7/2010
117. Oh, Tell Me, Ye Breezes 4/7/2010
118. On A Baby Buried By The Hawkesbury 4/7/2010
119. On A Cattle Track 4/7/2010
120. On A Spanish Cathedral 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

After Many Years

The song that once I dreamed about,
   The tender, touching thing,
As radiant as the rose without,
   The love of wind and wing:
The perfect verses, to the tune
   Of woodland music set,
As beautiful as afternoon,
   Remain unwritten yet.

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