#AustralianWriters
’Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum… On the edge of the Never-Never, Where the dead men lie and the bla… And the bushman lies for ever. ’Twas the custom still with the lo…
(According to Commissioner Hay, Chief Officer of the Salvation Army in Australia, who has just returned from Europe, there are already about 20,000 Salvationists at the Front, and more ...
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
If yer gotter corf about yer, Gotter corf— Gotter corf— If yer gotter corf about yer, Gotter cord—
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…
We set no right above hers, No earthly light nor star, She hath had many lovers, But not as lovers are: They all were gallant fellows
Ah, better the thud of the deadly… Than the terrible silence where dr… And better the rattle of rifles ne… Than the sound—most hellish of all… On the runs to the west of the Di…
There’s a light out there in the n… In the dawn of Nineteen Nine; There’s the old ghost light in t… Where the black rocks meet the bri… Here’s the same old strife and t…
Somewhere in the mystic future, on… There’s a very pleasant country… It has inland towns, and cities by… But the people of the country diff… It is many leagues beyond us, and…
I’m glad that the Bushmen can’t s… A-doing it tall in the town; I’ve an inch-brimmed hat on my sun… And my collar jumps up and down. I’m wearing a vest that would char…
I notice in “Answers to Correspondents” that the Bulletin has no sympathy for, or can’t understand the poet bloke that wishes to be buried at sea. I don’t wish to be buried anywhere jus...
Where the needle-woman toils Through the night with hand and br… Till the sickly daylight shudders… Till her eyes seem to crawl, And her brain seems to creep—
I was welcome in a palace when the… I was petted in a garden and my tr… But for me above the alleys there… Where the third-rate public houses… Where the third-rate public houses
While they struggle on exhausted, While they plough through bog and… While they drag their sick and wou… Where the tracks are drenched with… While the Fates seemed joined to…
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…