Leon Gellert

(1892 - 1977 / Australia)

Leon Gellert Poems

1. The Speech Of Flattery 4/5/2010
2. To A Man Who Wished To Die 4/5/2010
3. Sights 4/5/2010
4. The Change 4/5/2010
5. The Cross 4/5/2010
6. The Influence Of Lust 4/5/2010
7. The Old And The New 4/5/2010
8. The Song’s End 4/5/2010
9. The Bush Lover 4/5/2010
10. The Retirement Of Mars 4/5/2010
11. Through A Porthole 4/5/2010
12. The Teacher 4/5/2010
13. The Return 4/5/2010
14. Now ‘neath The Cool Stars 4/5/2010
15. The Death 4/5/2010
16. The Invocation Of Jealousy 4/5/2010
17. The Hawk 4/5/2010
18. The Dreamer 4/5/2010
19. The Dead 4/5/2010
20. The Husband 4/5/2010
21. The Advice Of Treachery 4/5/2010
22. The Christmas Beetle 4/5/2010
23. The House Delirious 4/5/2010
24. The Australian Muse 4/5/2010
25. The Wrecked Aeroplane 4/5/2010
26. The Three Concerned 4/5/2010
27. The Veteran 4/5/2010
28. One Who Died: In Memory Of E.W.T.S. 4/5/2010
29. The Soul Forsaken 4/5/2010
30. Rapine 4/5/2010
31. The Cry Of Mammon 4/5/2010
32. Memories 4/5/2010
33. The Soldier 4/5/2010
34. The Moving Of The Shades 4/5/2010
35. The Epileptic 4/5/2010
36. The Cripple 4/5/2010
37. Lemnos Revisited 4/5/2010
38. Dejection 4/5/2010
39. Red 4/5/2010
40. The River 4/5/2010
Best Poem of Leon Gellert

Anzac Cove

There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks:
There’s a beach asleep and drear:
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken trampled graves:
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth.
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt :
There’s a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.

Read the full of Anzac Cove

The Last To Leave

The guns were silent, and the silent hills
had bowed their grasses to a gentle breeze
I gazed upon the vales and on the rills,
And whispered, "What of these?' and "What of these?
These long forgotten dead with sunken graves,
Some crossless, with unwritten memories
Their only mourners are the moaning waves,
Their only minstrels are the singing trees
And thus I mused and sorrowed wistfully

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