Victor James Daley
Victor James William Patrick Daley was an Australian poet.
He was born at the Navan, County Armagh, Ireland, and was educated at the Christian Brothers at Devonport in England. He arrived in Australia in 1878, and became a freelance journalist and writer in both Melbourne and Sydney. Whilst in Melbourne, he met and became a friend of Marcus Clarke; later, in Sydney, he became acquainted with Henry Kendall. He is notable for becoming the first author in Australia who tried to earn a living from writing alone. In Sydney in 1898, he founded the bohemian Dawn and Dusk Club, which had many notable members such as writer Henry Lawson. He died at Sydney of tuberculosis.
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Victor James Daley Poems
On a golden dawn in the dawn sublime Of years ere the stars had ceased to sing, Beautiful out of the sea-deeps cold Aphrodite arose—the Flower of Time—
Christmas in Australia
O DAY, the crown and crest of all the year! Thou comest not to us amid the snows, But midmost of the reign of the red rose; Our hearts have not yet lost the ancient cheer
BY his side, whose days are past, Lay bow and quiver! And his eyes that stare aghast Close, with a shiver.
Day and Night
DAY goeth bold in cloth of gold, A royal bridegroom he; But Night in jewelled purple walks— A Queen of Mystery.
At Dawn and Dusk
At Dawn and Dusk Love-Laurel IN MEMORY OF HENRY KENDALL
Bouquet and Bracelet
Bouquet said: “My floral ring The homage of a heart encloses, Whose thoughts to you go worshipping In perfume from my blushing roses.”
The pale discrowned stacks of maize, Like spectres in the sun, Stand shivering nigh Avonaise, Where all is dead and gone.
When trees in Spring Are blossoming My lady wakes From dreams whose light
ONCE a poet—long ago— Wrote a song as void of art As the songs that children know, And as pure as a child’s heart.
HAVING certain cares to drown, To the sea I took them down: And I threw them in the wave, That engulfed them like a grave.
I HAVE been dreaming all a summer day Of rare and dainty poems I would write; Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scent, Soft idylls woven of wind, and flower, and stream,
The awful seers of old who wrote, in words Like drops of blood, great thoughts that through the night Of ages burn, as eyes of lions light Deep jungle-dusks; who smote with songs like swords
IT MAY have been a fragment of that higher Truth dreams, at times, disclose; It may have been to Fond Illusion nigher— But thus the story goes:
Comments about Victor James Daley
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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On a golden dawn in the dawn sublime
Of years ere the stars had ceased to sing,
Beautiful out of the sea-deeps cold
Aphrodite arose—the Flower of Time—
That, dear till the day of her blossoming,
The old, old Sea had borne in his heart.
Around her worshipping waves did part
Tremulous—glowing in rose and gold.
And the birds broke forth into singing sweet,
And flowers born scentless breathed perfume:
Softly she smiled upon Man forlorn,
And the music of love in his wild heart beat,
And down to the pit went his gods of gloom,
And earth grew bright and fair as...