Poems begining by A
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A Better Ressurection
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
A Study (A Soul)
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
And felt the aspic writhing in her hand.
A Daughter Of Eve
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
A fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
A fool to snap my lily.
A Birthday
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
A Sophistical Argument
© Lesbia Harford
Great crane o'ertopping the delicate trees
Why do you seem so fair,
Swaying and raising your load with ease
High in the misty air?
After An Old Legend
© George MacDonald
The monk was praying in his cell,
With bowed head praying sore;
He had been praying on his knees
For two long hours and more.
Above Eurunderee
© Henry Lawson
There are scenes in the distance where beauty is not,
On the desolate flats where gaunt appletrees rot.
Where the brooding old ridge rises up to the breeze
From his dark lonely gullies of stringy-bark trees,
There are voice-haunted gaps, ever sullen and strange,
But Eurunderee lies like a gem in the range.
A Criticism of Critics
© Robert Fuller Murray
How often have the critics, trained
To look upon the sky
Through telescopes securely chained,
Forgot the naked eye.
A Poets Daughter
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
"A lady asks the Minstrel's rhyme."
A lady asks? There was a time
When, musical as play-bell's chime
To wearied boy,
That sound would summon dreams sublime
Of pride and joy.
Autumn On Parade
© Millosh Gjergj Nikolla
An oak tree, reflected in the tears of heaven,
Tosses and bleeds in gigantic passion.
"To live! I want to live!" - it fights for breath,
Piercing the storm with cries of grief.
A Cinque Port
© John Davidson
Below the down the stranded town
What may betide forlornly waits,
With memories of smoky skies,
When Gallic navies crossed the straits;
When waves with fire and blood grew bright,
And cannon thundered through the night.
A Vision of Poesy - Part 02
© Henry Timrod
It is not winter yet, but that sweet time
In autumn when the first cool days are past;
A week ago, the leaves were hoar with rime,
And some have dropped before the North wind's blast;
But the mild hours are back, and at mid-noon,
The day hath all the genial warmth of June.
Australian Bards And Bush Reviewers
© Henry Lawson
While you use your best endeavour to immortalise in verse
The gambling and the drink which are your country's greatest curse,
While you glorify the bully and take the spieler's part --
You're a clever southern writer, scarce inferior to Bret Harte.
Australian Engineers
© Henry Lawson
Ah, well! but the case seems hopeless, and the pen might write in vain;
Address To A Child During A Boisterous Winter By My Sister
© William Wordsworth
WHAT way does the wind come? What way does he go?
He rides over the water, and over the snow,
Australia's Peril
© Henry Lawson
We must suffer, husband and father, we must suffer, daughter and son,
For the wrong we have taken part in and the wrong that we have seen done.
Let the bride of frivolous fashion, and of ease, be ashamed and dumb,
For I tell you the nations shall rule us who have let their children come!
An Echo
© Jonathan Swift
Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
As far as your Rifles Cover
© Henry Lawson
Do you think, you slaves of a thousand years to poverty, wealth and pride,
You can crush the spirit that has been free in a land that's new and wide?
When you've scattered the last of the farmer bands, and the war for a while is over,
You will hold the land ay, you'll hold the land the land that your rifles cover.
A Song of the Republic
© Henry Lawson
Sons of the South, awake! arise!
Sons of the South, and do.
Banish from under your bonny skies
Those old-world errors and wrongs and lies.
Making a hell in a Paradise
That belongs to your sons and you.
