1916
#AustralianWriters
By hut, homestead and shearing she… By railroad, coach and track– By lonely graves where rest the de… Up-Country and Out-Back: To where beneath the clustered sta…
Where the seasons are divided and… and the links are rather broken in… where the atmosphere is hazy under… lies the little town of Eton, rath… Near the township, in the graveyar…
An hour before the sun goes down Behind the ragged boughs, I go across the little run And bring the dusty cows; And once I used to sit and rest
When the heavy sand is yielding ba… And across the distant timber you… When your head is hot and aching,… And it’s fifteen miles to water in… Don’t give up, don’t be down-heart…
’Tis sunrise over Watson, Where I sailed out to sea, On that wild run to London That wrecked and ruined me. The beauty of the morning
Oh, Great White Czar of Russia,… You’ve flung afar the grandest cha… You might have been, and could hav… The Czar of all the Russias, in f… ‘The Father of your People,’ your…
I’ve followed all my tracks and wa… I’ve been right back to boyhood’s… But every dream and every track—an… They all lead on, or they lead bac… No sign that green grass ever grew…
PART I Queen Hilda rode along the lines, And she was young and fair; And forward on her shoulders fell The heavy braids of hair:
Arouseabout of rouseabouts, from a… I bear a nick-name of the bush, an… I came from where I camp’d last n… I rub the darkness from my eyes, r… Some take the track for bitter pri…
When you see a man come walking do… Suit of saddle tweed and soft shir… With the careless swing and carria… There is freedom in Australia! he… Clingin’ back,
She sits beside the tinted tide, That’s reddened by the tortured sa… And through the East, to ocean wi… A vessel sails from sight of land. But she will wait and watch in vai…
It is well when you’ve lived in cl… To mourn for the days gone by, Would I live the same life over Could I live again? Not I! But, knowing the false from the re…
Texas Jack, you are amusin’. By… When I seen yer rig and saddle wi… Holy smoke! In such a saddle how… Why, I seen a gal ride bareback w… Gosh! so-help-me! strike-me-balmy!…
Now the tent poles are rotting, th… And the possums may gambol in tree… I am humping my bluey far out on t… And the prints of my bluchers sink… I am out on the wallaby humping my…
’Tis no tale of heroism, ’tis no t… But of ordinary boozing, and of du… Of the everlasting friction that m… Tale of nagging and of drinking—an… Name of Jones—perhaps you know hi…