Am I waking? Was I sleeping? Dearest, are you watching yet? Traces on your cheeks of weeping Glitter, �Tis in vain you fret; Drifting ever! drifting onward! In the glass the bright sand runs Steadily and slowly downward; Hushed are all the Myrmidons. Has Automedon been banish�d From his post beside my bed? Where has Agamemnon vanished? Where is warlike Diomed? Where is Nestor? where Ulysses? Menelaus,…
Pastor Cum By Adam Lindsay Gordon
Translation from Horace When he, that shepherd false, �neath Phrygian sails, Carried his hostess Helen o�er the seas, In fitful slumber Nereus hush�d the gales, That he might…
No Name By Adam Lindsay Gordon
�A stone upon her heart and head, But no name written on that stone; Sweet neighbours whisper low instead, This sinner was a loving one.� – Mrs. Browning. �Tis…
Lex Talionis – A Moral Discourse By Adam Lindsay Gordon
�And if there�s blood upon his hand, �Tis but the blood of deer.� – W. Scott. To beasts of the field, and fowls of the air, And fish…
Laudamus By Adam Lindsay Gordon
The Lord shall slay or the Lord shall save! He is righteous whether He save or slay, Brother, give thanks for the gifts He gave, Though the gifts…
In Utrumque Paratus – A Logical Discussion By Adam Lindsay Gordon
�Then hey for boot and horse, lad! And round the world away! Young blood will have its course, lad! And every dog his day!� – C. Kingsley. There�s a…
In The Garden By Adam Lindsay Gordon
Aylmer�s Garden, near the Lake. LAURENCE RABY and ESTELLE. He: Come to the bank where the boat is moor�d to the willow-tree low; Bertha, the baby, won�t…
How We Beat The Favourite – A Lay Of The Loamshire Hunt Cup By Adam Lindsay Gordon
�Aye, squire,� said Stevens, �they back him at evens; The race is all over, bar shouting, they say; The Clown ought to beat her; Dick Neville is…
Hippodromania; or, Whiffs From The Pipe By Adam Lindsay Gordon
In Five Parts Part I Visions in the Smoke Rest, and be thankful! On the verge Of the tall cliff rugged and grey, But whose granite base the…
Gone By Adam Lindsay Gordon
In Collins-street standeth a statue tall,* A statue tall on a pillar of stone, Telling its story, to great and small, Of the dust reclaimed from the sand…