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

Amongst The Roses

I walked through a Forest, beneath the hot noon,
On Etheline calling and calling!
One said: “She will hear you and come to you soon,
When the coolness, my brother, is falling.”
But I whispered: “O Darling, I falter with pain!”
And the thirsty leaves rustled, and hissed for the rain,
Where a wayfarer halted and slept on the plain;
And dreamt of a garden of Roses!
Of a cool sweet place,
And a nestling face
In a dance and a dazzle of Roses.
In the drought of a Desert, outwearied, I wept,
O Etheline, ...

Read the full of Amongst The Roses

Kiama

Towards the hills of Jamberoo
Some few fantastic shadows haste,
Uplit with fires
Like castle spires
Outshining through a mirage waste.
Behold, a mournful glory sits
On feathered ferns and woven brakes,
Where sobbing wild like restless child
The gusty breeze of evening wakes!

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