Henry Kendall

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

Henry Kendall Poems

121. On A Street 4/7/2010
122. On The Paroo 4/7/2010
123. Orara 1/1/2004
124. Our Jack 4/7/2010
125. Outre Mer 1/4/2003
126. Passing Away 4/7/2010
127. Persia 4/7/2010
128. Peter The Piccaninny 4/7/2010
129. Prefatory Sonnets I 1/4/2003
130. Pytheas 4/7/2010
131. Rizpah 4/7/2010
132. Robert Parkes 4/7/2010
133. Rose Lorraine 1/4/2003
134. Safi 4/7/2010
135. Sedan 4/7/2010
136. September In Australia 1/4/2003
137. Silent Tears 4/7/2010
138. Sitting By The Fire 4/7/2010
139. Song Of The Cattle Hunters 1/1/2004
140. Song Of The Shingle-Splitters 1/1/2004
141. Sonnets On The Discovery Of Botany Bay By Captain Cook 4/7/2010
142. Stanzas 4/7/2010
143. Sutherland’s Grave 4/7/2010
144. Sydney Exhibition Cantata 4/7/2010
145. Sydney Harbour 4/7/2010
146. Syrinx 4/7/2010
147. The Austral Months 4/7/2010
148. The Australian Emigrant 4/7/2010
149. The Ballad Of Tanna 4/7/2010
150. The Barcoo 1/1/2004
151. The Bereaved One 4/7/2010
152. The Curlew Song 4/7/2010
153. The Curse Of Mother Flood 4/7/2010
154. The Earth Laments For Day 4/7/2010
155. The Far Future 4/7/2010
156. The Fate Of The Explorers (A Fragment) 4/7/2010
157. The Girl I Left Behind Me 4/7/2010
158. The Glen Of Arrawatta 4/7/2010
159. The Helmsman 4/7/2010
160. The Hut By The Black Swamp 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

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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