Kenneth Slessor

(27 March 1901 – 30 June 1971 / Orange, New South Wales)

Quotations

  • ''And tried to hear your voice, but all I heard
    Was a boat's whistle, and the scraping squeal
    Of seabird's voices far away, and bells,
    Five bells. Five bells coldly ringing out.
    Five bells.''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 124-128). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
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  • ''These funeral-cakes of sweet and sculptured stone.''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 96). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
  • ''Time that is moved by little fidget wheels
    Is not my Time,''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 1-2). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
  • ''Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face
    In agonies of speech on speechless panes?
    Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 20-22). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.
  • ''Where have you gone? The tide is over you,
    The turn of midnight water's over you,
    As Time is over you, and mystery,
    And memory, the flood that does not flow.''
    Kenneth Slessor (1901-1971), Australian poet, journalist. Five Bells (l. 97-100). . . Poetry in Australia, Vols. I-II. Vol. I: From the Ballads to Brennan, T. Inglis Moore, comp.; Vol. II: Modern Australian Verse, Douglas Stewart, comp. (1965) University of California Press.

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Thief of the Moon

Thief of the moon, thou robber of old delight,
Thy charms have stolen the star-gold, quenched the moon-
Cold, cold are the birds that, bubbling out of night,
Cried once to my ears their unremembered tune-
Dark are those orchards, their leaves no longer shine,
No orange's gold is globed like moonrise there-
O thief of the earth's old loveliness, once mine,
Why dost thou waste all beauty to make thee fair?

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