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...A DEPOSITION FROM LOVE by THOMAS CAREW THE LITTLE BEACH BIRD by RICHARD HENRY DANA (1787-1879) EPIGRAM: A LAME BEGGAR by JOHN DONNE HYMN TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS by JOHN DONNE YUSSOUF by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |