Christopher John Brennan(1 November 1870 - 5 October 1932 / Sydney / Australia)
Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her
- by Christopher John Brennan37
If questioning would make us wise No eyes would ever gaze in eyes; If all our tale were told in speech No mouths would wander each to each.
Were spirits free from mortal mesh And love not bound in hearts of flesh No aching breasts would yearn to meet And find their ecstasy complete.
For who is there that lives and knows The secret powers by which he grows? Were knowledge all, what were our need To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?
Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why" I love you now until I die. For I must love because I live And life in me is what you give.
Fire in the Heavens
- by Christopher John Brennan31
Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills, and fire made solid in the flinty stone, thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fills the breathless hour that lives in fire alone.
This valley, long ago the patient bed of floods that carv'd its antient amplitude, in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread, endures to drown in noon-day's tyrant mood.
Behind the veil of burning silence bound, vast life's innumerous busy littleness is hush'd in vague-conjectured blur of sound that dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unless
some dazzling puncture let the stridence throng in the cicada's torture-point of song.
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