Kenneth Slessor

Sleep

Do you give yourself to me utterly, Body and no-body, flesh and no-flesh Not as a fugitive, blindly or bitterly, But as a child might, with no other wish? Yes, utterly. Then I shall

These black bush-waters, heavy with crusted boughs Like plumes above dead captains, wake the mind…. Uncounted kissing, unremembered vows, Nights long forgotten, moons too dark to find, Or stars too cold…all quick things that

South Country

After the whey-faced anonymity Of river-gums and scribbly-gums and bush, After the rubbing and the hit of brush, You come to the South Country As if the argument of trees were done, The doubts

William Street

The red globe of light, the liquor green, The pulsing arrows and the running fire Spilt on the stones, go deeper than a stream; You find this ugly, I find it lovely Ghosts’ trousers,

Five Bells

Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time, the flood that does not flow. Between the double and the single bell Of a ship’s hour, between a round of bells

Thief of the Moon

Thief of the moon, thou robber of old delight, Thy charms have stolen the star-gold, quenched the moon – Cold, cold are the birds that, bubbling out of night, Cried once to my ears

North Country

North Country, filled with gesturing wood, With trees that fence, like archers’ volleys, The flanks of hidden valleys Where nothing’s left to hide But verticals and perpendiculars, Like rain gone wooden, fixed in falling,