1916
#AustralianWriters
THERE can be no doubt but that without sentiment the world would be worse than it now is; but sentiment, though a good servant, is a bad master. Though not wishing to make a virtue of s...
Set me back for twenty summers— For I’m tired of cities now— Set my feet in red-soil furrows And my hands upon the plough, With the two 'Black Brothers’ tru…
Our Andy’s gone to battle now 'Gainst Drought, the red marauder… Our Andy’s gone with cattle now Across the Queensland border. He’s left us in dejection now;
I listened through the music and t… And all the hollow noises of that… I heard beyond the music and beyon… The steady tramp of thousands that… Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Fight through ignorance, want, and… Through the griefs that crush the… Push your way to a fortune fair, And the smiles of the world you’ll… Long, as a boy, for the chance to…
The world goes round, old fellow, And still I’m in the swim, While my wife’s second husband Is growing old and grim. I meet him in the city—
A tall, slight, English gentleman… With an eyeglass to his eye; He mostly says “Good-Bai” to you, When he means to say “Good-bye”; He shakes hands like a ladies’ man…
The breezes waved the silver grass… Waist-high along the siding, And to the creek we ne’er could pa… Three boys on bare-back riding; Beneath the sheoaks in the bend
But what’s the use of writing ‘bus… Though editors demand it— For city folk, and farming folk, Can never understand it. They’re blind to what the bushman…
A black-sheep, from England, who… Riding where the stockmen ride— He sat by the hut when the day’s w… Lone huts where the black sheep bi… “I’m tired of my life!” to his lon…
I Looked upon the lilies When the morning sun was low, And the sun shone through a lily With a softened honey glow. A spot was in the lily
I would never waste the hours Of the time that is mine own, Writing verses about flowers For their own sweet sakes alone; Gushing as a schoolgirl gushes
When the wars of the world seemed… Ten years ago in Australia, I wro… And I pictured Australians fighti… For the old things, pride or count… And they lounged on the rim of Au…
Fire lighted; on the table a meal… A lantern in the stable; a jingle… The mail-coach looming darkly by l… The growl of sleepy voices; a cand… A stumble in the passage of folk w…
It is stuffy in the steerage where… For there’s near a hundred for’ard… They are trav’lers for the most pa… But their linen’s rather scanty, a… Stowed away like ewes and wethers…