Poem: At Gordon's Grave by T. S. Browning

| No TrackBacks
Our Gordon looked within his breast and sang;
And all his heart was in the melody
That leapt from off his lips and clearly rang
Throughout the bush in sad, sweet harmony
With all the other sounds that there are born,
And cradled 'mongst the gullies and the gums,
And like a stream from out the distant morn
Australian, his flood of singing comes
To us to-day; and with his best heart's blood
The stream is all alive ... And live it must
Whilst e'er in yonder tree so full in bud,
'Neath which his mouldered bones enrich the dust,
By day his notes stir in the song-bird's breast
And whisper in the boughs perpetually,
And whilst by night the breeze that knows no rest,
Picks up the echo of his melody.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 14 October 1933

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL: http://www.middlemiss.org/cgi-bin/movabletype/mt-tb.cgi/670

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on December 18, 2010 8:49 AM.

Another Weblog was the previous entry in this blog.

New Weblog Starts Up is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

Monthly Archives

Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en