Blue

 

The blue waves break along the shore,

How blue, how blue the summer skies!

Somewhere in France two brave blue eyes

Lie closed for evermore!

 

Peter Austen,1919 

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There Was a Day!

 

There was a day, when insolently gay,

I laughed unto the strumming of guitars.

There was a night, I wove in some brave way

A necklace of the stars.

There was a day!

 

Remembering, I sit at evening,

And hear the endless sound of falling tears;

And, thro' the days, another song I sing,

Remembering these years-

Remembering!

 

Remembering!  Alas, how shall I fling

My arms out, out to greet the rising suns?

How shall I hear the birds, and see the Spring?

Remembering Dead Ones-

Remembering!

 

Peter Austen,1919 

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The Mother

 

Somewhere in France he lies-

Above his head the scarlet poppies blow,

And silver moons have bloomed and still will bloom;

Somewhere the distant great guns boom and boom-

And 'cross the Harbour blue, the wind with slow,

Sad whispers, sighs.

 

Somewhere in France he lies-

And I, I wailing, seek his empty room,

Stretching my arms out to the empty gloom,

Clasping a dream.  Then through the day I go

With hollow eyes.

 

Somewhere in France he lies-

Oh hollow eyes, oh mouth that aches with woe,

No more for me shall moon or flower bloom-

And yet another, but less splendid tomb-

Ah, I am proud, am proud, to-day to know

In France he lies!

 

Somewhere in France he lies-

But oh, each scalding tear that dries

Upon my cheek; my moans, my cries,

That rise and still must rise

Up, up to Heaven and those cold blue skies!

 

Peter Austen (1919)

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Reverie

 

Have you heard the bell-birds calling, thro' the grey Australian bush,

On some blue September morning, from the trees?

Have you heard a creek go brawling, thro' the noonday's golden hush,

Or the drowsy hum of nesting native bees?

 

Have you heard the stock-whip cracking like short, sharp pistol shot;

And the thunder of the cattle, rushing by-

When, with saddle, just of sacking, you follow fast and hot,

As you ride and ride beneath the open sky?

 

Have you seen the White Cross burning in the night, and in the day

Heard the Kookaburras laughing by the pool?

Ah, it's there my heart is turning, to the mountain ranges grey,

And the mists and ferny gullies green and cool!

 

Peter Austen

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Compare with: 'Australia in England' by Zora Cross.