William Henry Ogilvie

(21 August 1869 – 30 January 1963 / Kelso, Scotland)

William Henry Ogilvie Poems

1. The Opening Run 4/7/2010
2. The Queen Of Yore 4/7/2010
3. Skyline Tommy 4/7/2010
4. Queensland Opal 4/7/2010
5. Witchery Knows! 4/7/2010
6. The Music Of The Chase 4/7/2010
7. English Grass 4/7/2010
8. The Artist 4/7/2010
9. The Battered Brigade 4/7/2010
10. The Right Sort 4/7/2010
11. The Happiest Man In England 4/7/2010
12. Biddy, Be Kind! 4/7/2010
13. Riderless 4/7/2010
14. The Game Of Our Hearts 4/7/2010
15. War Heel! 4/7/2010
16. Wind O' The Autumn 4/7/2010
17. The Straight Goer 4/7/2010
18. To One Of Our Wounded 4/7/2010
19. The First Flight 4/7/2010
20. The Huntsman's Horse 4/7/2010
21. The Pilot 4/7/2010
22. The Stable Path 4/7/2010
23. As They Come 4/7/2010
24. Tom Moody 4/7/2010
25. Daffodils 4/7/2010
26. Colour 4/7/2010
27. The Veteran 4/7/2010
28. The Call 4/7/2010
29. Canadians 4/7/2010
30. Yonder He Goes! 4/7/2010
31. The Second Whip Explains 4/7/2010
32. The Riding Of The Rebel 4/7/2010
33. The Shadow On The Blind 4/7/2010
34. Hounds Going Home In The Dark 4/7/2010
35. The Stockyard Liar 4/7/2010
36. Once We Went Gaily 4/7/2010
37. A Gallop From The Train 4/7/2010
38. Comrades 0' Mine 4/7/2010
39. The Pearl Of Them All 4/7/2010
40. The Last Fence 4/7/2010
Best Poem of William Henry Ogilvie

Drought

My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones
And strewn with the blind, white sand,
Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans
On the breast of a lonely land.
On the rim of the world the lightnings play,
The heat-waves quiver and dance,
And the breath of the wind is a sword to slay
And the sunbeams each a lance.

I have withered the grass where my hot hoofs tread,
I have whitened the sapless trees,
I have driven the faint-heart rains ahead
To hide in their soft green seas.

I have bound the plains with an iron band,
I have stricken the...

Read the full of Drought

Drought

My road is fenced with the bleached, white bones
And strewn with the blind, white sand,
Beside me a suffering, dumb world moans
On the breast of a lonely land.
On the rim of the world the lightnings play,
The heat-waves quiver and dance,
And the breath of the wind is a sword to slay
And the sunbeams each a lance.

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