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Arthur Henry Adams - Sydney
Work rating: Low

In her grey majesty of ancient stone 
She queens it proudly, though the sun`s caress 
Her piteous cheeks, ravished of bloom, confess, 
And her dark eyes his bridegroom glance have know. 
Robed in her flowing parks, serene, alone, 
She fronts the east; and with the tropic stress 
Her smooth brow ripples into weariness; 
Yet hers the sea for footstool, and for throne 
A continent predestined. Round her trails 
The turbid squalor of her streets, and dim 
Into the dark heat-haze her domes flow up; 
Her long lean fingers, with their grey-old nails, 
Giving her thirsty lips to the cool brim 
Of the bronze beauty of her harbour`s cup.
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