Fair islands of the silver fleece, Hoards of unsunned, uncounted gold, Whose havens are the haunts of peace, Whose boys are in our quarrel bold; Our bolt is shot, our tale is told, Our ship of state in storms may toss; But ye are young, if we are old, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross! Ah, we must dwindle and decrease, Such fates the ruthless years unfold; And yet we shall not wholly cease, We shall not perish unconsoled; Nay, still shall freedom keep her hold Within the sea's inviolate fosse, And boast her sons of English mould, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross! All empires tumble-Rome and Greece- Their swords are rust, their altars cold! For us, the children of the seas, Who ruled where'er the waves have rolled, For us, in fortune's books enscrolled, I read no runes of hopeless loss; Nor-while ye last-our knell is tolled, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross! Envoy Britannia, when thy hearth's a-cold, When o'er thy grave has grown the moss, Still Rule Australia shall be trolled In Islands of the Southern Cross! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WAVING OF THE CORN by SIDNEY LANIER JENNY WI' THE AIRN TEETH by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE KINGS OF THE EAST by KATHARINE LEE BATES ON THE DEATH OF MR. JAMES VALENTINE by JAMES HAY BEATTIE TO MRS. ANN FLAXMAN by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BANJO FIEND by WILLARD GROSVENOR BLEYER |