Edwin James Brady

(7 August 1869 - 22 August 1952 / Carcoar / New South Wales)

Roderic Quinn


No more will Rod his lyrics sing,
As tuneful as the thrush when Spring
With minstrel voice is calling;
As joyous as the gentle chime
Of bellbirds in the Summertime
From sylvan spires down-falling.

The harp is mute from which he drew
The magic of a music new
Of woods and golden beaches;
Its silent strings tell ne'er again
Enraptured tales of hill and plain
And gleaming river reaches.

But this fair land shall ever be
Indebted to his minstrelsy,
So, written on the portal
Of Art's proud temple, will his name
Go down forevermore in fame
Untarnished and immortal.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Roderic Quinn by Edwin James Brady )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Ghost, Jhonas Lumanlan
  2. Eagerly I want to go with you, Gert Strydom
  3. Prayer and Women, Abdullah alHemaidy
  4. Love is far more than just lust or desir.., Gert Strydom
  5. Lie To Me, Rouren Torres
  6. The Fight, Robert Melliard
  7. Paying Taxes, Randy McClave
  8. हांमा गोनां जिव, Bahadur Basumatary
  9. I Knew What You Knew, Vera Sidhwa
  10. Wearing the Flaws, Gerry Legister

Poem of the Day

poet Edmund Spenser

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My love like the spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]