Verse > Anthologies > Walter Murdoch, comp. > The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse
Walter Murdoch, comp. (1874–1970).  The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse.  1918.
Index of First Lines
A boat on the sea, my boat
Above us hangs the jewelled night
A copper concave of a sky
Ah, have you seen Aoranghi rise
Ah, my heart, the storm and sadness!
Ah, to be by Mooni now!
All is over! fleet career
All men are free and equal born
All singers have shadows
All that I am is Thine
All the first night she might not weep
Along the serried coast the Southerly raves
A mermaid’s not a human thing
And sleeps thy heart when flower and tree
A pair of lovers in the street!
As children vex a lion in his cage
As I rose in the early dawn
A timid child with heart oppressed
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon endures
Baby, O baby, fain you are for bed
Before the glare o’ dawn I rise
Beneath this narrow jostling street
Beside the pale water
Blue and gold, and mist and sunlight
Boot and saddle, see the slanting
But thou hast read how Cleopatra went
By channels of coolness the echoes are calling
Calm and fair
Can we not consecrate
Celestial poesy! whose genial sway
City, I never told you yet
Come away, come away from the straightness of the road
Come, before the summer passes
Cometh a voice:—‘My children, hear
Coming down the mountain road
Dew upon the robin as he lilts there on the thorn
Did you know, little child
Down harvest headlands the fairy host
Down in the South, by the waste without sail on it
Do you remember that careless band
English thrush within my garden from thy pinetree minaret
Fair as the night—when all the astral fires
Forth sped thy gallant sailors, blithe and free
From all division let our land be free
From my window I can see
Give us from dawn to dark
God girt her about with the surges
Gold of the tangled wilderness of wattle
Grey dawn—and lucent star that slowly paled
Grey Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest
Hark! Young Democracy from sleep
Hast thou forgotten me? the days are dark
Have courage, O my comradry of dreamers!
Have you ever been down to my countree
He lies here. See the bush
Here is my last good-bye
Here lies the woven garb he wore
Here’s to the home that was never, never ours!
Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more
How long, O Lord, shall this, my country, be
I am a weakling. God, who made
I count the mercifullest part of all
If, as they tell in stories old
If in the summer of thy bright regard
If of us two might only one be glad
If the woodland and the heath
I leave the world to-morrow
I make not my division of the hours
Implacable as are thy arctic floes
I’m sick of fog and yellow gloom
In a forest, far away
In a land of many waters, by a sun-forsaken lea
In Collins Street standeth a statute tall
In dark wild woods, where the lone owl broods
In Ortygia the Dawn land the old gods dwell
In the sorrow and the terror of the nations
I said, This misery must end
I saw the Night caught, as by wizard’s spell
I suppose it just depends on where you’re raised
It’s gettin’ bits o’ posies
It’s singin’ in an’ out
I twined a wreath of heather white
I wrought and battled and wept, near and afar
Just as of yore the friendly rain
Lady of Sorrow! What though laughing blue
Last night I saw the Pleiades again
Last sea-thing dredged by sailor Time from Space
Life’s Angel watched a happy child at play
Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows
Like a black enamoured king whispered low the thunder
Love, love me only
Lovers, are you faring forth?
Love stole in to a fair child dreaming
Measure me out from the fathomless tun
Me let the world disparage and despise
Miles and miles of quiet houses, every house a harbour
Mirror of the trackless sky
My Baby, wouldst thou treasure hoard?
My Countrymen, though we are young as yet
My heart was wandering in the sands
’Neath the spiring of spruces
Night, and a bitter sky, and strange birds crying
Night gave to Thee thy shadowy hair
Night waned and wasted, and the fading stars
Not a sound disturbs the air
Not Beelzebub, but white archangel, I
Now two have met, now two have met
O bowl that held the hot imprisoned fire
O city, look the Eastward way!
O did you see a troop go by
O far away, and far away
O heart of Spring!
Oh, gaily sings the bird!
Oh, golden-lilied Queen—immortal France!
Oh, the moon shines bright, and we sail to-night
O June has her diamonds, her diamonds of sheen
Once more this Autumn-earth is ripe
On summer nights when moonbeams flow
O pure of soul, and fond and deep of heart
O rich and splendid soul that overflowest
O the grey, grey company
Our little queen of dreams
Our manlier spirits hear and will obey
Outcast, a horror to his kind
O white wind, numbing the world
Quietly as rosebuds
Reluctant Morn, whose meagre radiance lies
Rosalind has come to town!
She comes as comes the summer night
She is more sparkling beautiful
She is standing at the gate
She looked on me with sadder eyes than Death
She loves me! From her own bliss-breathing lips
She rose amid the Nations, tall and fair
She sits a queen whom none shall dare despoil
Simson settled in the timber when his arm was strong and true
Snowy-smooth beneath the pen
So the last day’s come at last
Spirit, that lookest from the starry fold
Strew the flowers at Love’s behest
Tell me what boots to battle, when the end
The bleak-faced Winter, with his braggart winds
The brave old land of deed and song
The bridle reins hang loose in the hold of his lean left hand
The grey of Ocean’s denseness
The locust drones along the drowsy noon
The love of field and coppice
The Master He was hungry
The moon is bright, and the winds are laid
The night descends in glory, and adown the purple west
The pangs that guard the gates of joy
There came a little light-foot breeze a-dancing down the bay
There grows a white, white flower
There is no need to say good-bye
There is no word of thanks to hear
There’s a crack in the city
There’s a regret that from my bosom aye
There’s not a person in the street
The sea-coast of Bohemia
The sheep are yarded, an’ I sit
The stars are pale
The strong sob of the chafing stream
The sunny rounds of Earth contain
The wide sun stares without a cloud
The wingèd words, they pass
The world did say to me
They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less
They said: Now here is gold
They tell you the poet is useless and empty the sound of his lyre
They’ve builded wooden timber tracks
They will take us from the moorings
This is a rune I ravelled in the still
This is the sum of things … that we
Thou wilt come with suddenness
Thus pass the glories of the world!
Thy verse is like a cool and shady well
To break the stillness of the hour
To taste
Two kinds of courage are there in the creed
Unstable monster, formless, vast, alone
We are the Trees
Weary of the ceaseless war
We go no more to the forest
What can I write in thee, O dainty book
What can we give in return
What cares the rose if the buds which are its pride
What was the hardest hour
When I was a burst of thunder
When shall I make a song for you, my love?
When the tall bamboos are clicking to the restless little breeze
Where is Australia, singer, do you know?
Where shall we go for our garlands glad
Where the dreaming Tiber wanders by the haunted Appian Way
Where the ironbarks are hanging leaves disconsolate and pale
Where through entangling bays
Who seeks the shore where dreams outpour
Who will persuade me that one perfect song
Wild and wet, and windy wet falls the night on Hamilton
Wild eyes—and faces ashen grey
Within the world a second world
Words are deeds. The words we hear
You kissed me in June
Your voice was the rugged
Youth that rides the wildest horse



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