A BLANKET low and leaden, Though rent across the west, Whose darkness seems to deaden The brightest and the best; A sunset white and staring

It is night-time when the saddest… When outside the printing office t… When the love-wrong is accomplishe… That the blackest lies are written… ’Tis the time of “late editions”.…

He works in the glen where the war… And the gums and the ashes are tal… ’Neath cliffs that re-echo the sou… When the wedges leap in from the m… He comes of a hardy old immigrant…

TWO COUPLES are drifting the… (Men of the world know well) From the ballroom glare as the nig… (Men of the world can tell). Many are round them who know, and…

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…

Where’s the steward?—Bar-room ste… I have left a three-pound billet j… Brighter shines the Star of Rover… But I think I’d give a kingdom fo… Run of rocky shelves at sunrise, w…

Oh, for the fire that used to glow In those my days of old! I never thought a man could grow So callous and so cold. Ah, for the heart that used to ach…

“Call that a yarn!” said old Tom… “What rot! I’ll lay my hat I’ll sling you a yarn worth more n… Such pumped-up yarns as that.” And thereupon old Tommy “slew”

A lonely child, with toil o’ertaxe… Sits Cinderella by the fire; Her limbs in weariness relaxed, And in her eyes a sad desire. But soon a wreath is on her brow;

The old year went, and the new ret… The cheque was spent that the shea… and the sheds were all cut out; The publican’s words were short an… and the publican’s looks were blac…

To a town in Southern land Light of purse I come and lone; And I pause awhile, and stand By a pedestal of stone; And I bend my head and bow

Above the ashes straight and tall, Through ferns with moisture drippi… I climb beneath the sandstone wall… My feet on mosses slipping. Like ramparts round the valley’s e…

’Tis strange on such a peaceful da… With white clouds flying o’er, That foreign boats are in the bay As prisoners of war. The Harbour, where they quietly l…

It has a “point” of neither sex But comes in guise of both, And, doubly dangerous complex, It is a thing to loathe— A lady with her sweet, sad smile,

The night came down thro’ Deadman… Where the ghostly saplings bent Before a wind that tore the fly From many a digger’s tent. Dark as pitch, and the rain rushed…