All Poems
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She Clothed Herself in Dreams
© Nicholls Marjory
She clothed herself in dreams all magical--Did ever Princess in a tale of oldShow half so daintily and rare as sheA lily exquisite--all white and gold?
Red Hibiscus in a Sydney Street
© Nicholls Marjory
When I look up and see your flaunting headAnd the long tongue that serpent-like shoots out,I ask, as swift thoughts throng in revellers' rout,What in the world as wicked is as red?I see a columned hall and tables spread,A woman, white and red, with smiles that flout,Two wine-flushed suitors and a sudden shout,Quarrel's quick curses, and the red wine shed--A gleam of swords, a bright and startling stain;Fear's frantic flight, and silence in the hall;Save when the night-wind strays in, flower-sweet,And from the gutt'ring candles white drops fall
Poppies
© Nicholls Marjory
There are scarlet poppies in her garden-bed, Debonair and full of glowing grace!There are scarlet poppies in a field of France And they're flaunting in her dead love's face.
"A Little Place Apart"
© Nicholls Marjory
A little garden have I made me here, Of tender, fragrant plants--none bright or gay--And hither shall I come in twilight-time To dream awhile of the dear yesterday.
Little Daughter
© Nicholls Marjory
My daughter, my little child Who, but yesterdayWas, in my count of the years But a child at play;My daughter, my little child Now wanders apartObsessed with some secret thought-- Some sorrow of heart.
June Evening at Beaconsfield (Bucks)
© Nicholls Marjory
Like a trail of smoke from the sunset's flameA long, frail wisp of cloud hung in the sky;The west still glowed--the colour, loth to die,Faded so slowly, and as slowly cameThe grey of twilight, long ere it could claimA conquest o'er the golden light on high,Which yielded, paling; lastly with a sighIt sank in grey enveloped--just as FameSinks and is covered by the years that creep
I Scarce Believed
© Nicholls Marjory
I wondered once, when life, so it did seem,Was holding to me hands where gifts were laid,Gifts so long yearned for, that I felt afraidAnd, scarce believing, grasped as in a dream
The Homely Ghost
© Nicholls Marjory
I shall come backVery quietly, very softly,A little brown shadow.
Four Errors
© Nicholls Marjory
I saw a fairy, perched on a stone.I stared too hard, and she was gone.
The Empty Places
© Nicholls Marjory
A wind is sighing wistfullyDown the valley quiet and lonely,No green leaves to stir and quicken,Blowing over gray grass only.
Depression
© Nicholls Marjory
My mind is like a wretched room, So bare, so drear;Dull with a heavy, ugly gloom, No light, no cheer.
A Changeling
© Nicholls Marjory
When nurse won't talk of fairies And says that I'm a bother,'Tis then I run away and hide, Or seek my eldest brother.
Faith's Review and Expectation
© John Newton
## That sav'd a wretch like me!I once was lost, but now am found; Was blind, but now I see.
The Wanderer
© Newbolt Henry John
To Youth there comes a whisper out of the west: "O loiterer, hasten where there waits for theeA life to build, a love therein to nest, And a man's work, serving the age to be."
Vitai Lampada
© Newbolt Henry John
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night-- Ten to make and the match to win--A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in
The Sailing of the Long-ships
© Newbolt Henry John
They saw the cables loosened, they saw the gangways cleared,They heard the women weeping, they heard the men that cheered;Far off, far off, the tumult faded and died away,And all alone the sea-wind came singing up the Bay
Drake's Drum
© Newbolt Henry John
Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?),Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe
April on a Waggon Hill
© Newbolt Henry John
Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill?Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still?'Twas the right death to die, lad, A gift without regret,But unless truth's a lie, lad, You dream of Devon yet
The Doctor Readies The Breathing Tube
© Neilson Shane
Centimetred grace: coiled like a whip,entering a place where one can sing,or choke a note. Jiggly jangly, the tripdown the throat a long tunnel, no light
On Realizing His Toddler Will Become a Woman
© Neilson Shane
That you will suffer,that you will learn of worlds,that you will leave hereand contemplate failure,the tears that well upof their own accord
