Mary Hannay Foott
Mary was born in Glasgow on 26th September, 1846. she was the daughter of James Black a leader in the Prebyterian Church. Her Mother descended from the literary family of Hannay. Mary arrived in Australia, 1853and was educated in Melbourne. She married Thomas Wade Foott in 1874, moving to live at Dundoo, Queensland.
After the death of her husband in 1884, she was to become the Literary... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Mary Hannay Foott Poems
A fringe of rushes -- one green line Upon a faded plain; A silver streak of water-shine -- Above, tree-watchers twain.
Conde had come with us all the way -- Eight hundred miles -- but the fortnight's rest Made him fresh as a youngster, the sturdy bay! And Lurline was looking her very best.
She heard the story of the end, Each message, too, she heard; And there was one for every friend; For her alone -- no word.
A fringe of rushes, one green line Upon a faded plain; A silver streak of water-shine, Above, tree-watchers twain.
The Fate Of Bass
On the snow-line of the summit stood the Spaniard's English slave; And the frighted condor westward flew afar--- Where the torch of Cotopaxi lit the wide Pacific wave, And the tender moon embraced a new-born star.
In Time Of Drought
The rushes are black by the river bed, And the sheep and the cattle stand Wistful-eyed, where the waters were, In a waste of gravel and sand;
The Australiad - (A Poem For Children.)
'Twas brave De Quiros bent the knee before the King of Spain, And “sire,” he said, “I bring thy ships in safety home again
Sonnets - Ii - The New Year
With supple boughs and new-born leaflets crowned, Rejoicing in fresh verdure stands the tree, Though weather-scarred and scooped by fire may be Its ancient trunk. So may our lives be found
At The Fords Of Jordan
A little way farther to guide thee I go Where the footing is firm and the waters are low; Then we part, O my King, thou once more to thy throne, I to dwell, in the house of my fathers, alone.
The Future Of Australia
Sing us the Land of the Southern Sea, The land we have called our own; Tell us what harvest there shall be From the seed that we have sown.
The Massacre Of The Bards
The sunlight from the sky is swept, But, over Snowdon's summit kept, One brand of cloud yet burns,
His silent spirit from the place Slid forth unseen; amid the throng Of those whose love outlived disgrace, Whose fealty to the last was strong.
In The South Pacific
A vision of a savage land, A glimpse of cloud-ringed seas; A moonlit deck, a murderous hand; No more, no more of these!
In The Land Of Dreams
A bridle-path in the tangled mallee, With blossoms unnamed and unknown bespread, And two who ride through its leafy alley, But never the sound of a horse's tread.
Comments about Mary Hannay Foott
A fringe of rushes -- one green line
Upon a faded plain;
A silver streak of water-shine --
Above, tree-watchers twain.
It was our resting-place awhile,
And still, with backward gaze,
We say: "'Tis many a weary mile --
But there were happy days."
And shall no ripple break the sand
Upon our farther way?
Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand?
Or leafy tree-tops sway?
The gold of dawn is surely met
In sunset's lavish ...