1916
#AustralianWriters
When you’ve come to make a fortune… And the reason of your failure isn… When you haven’t got a billet, and… There is nothing that can spur you… Crawling home with empty pockets,
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
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…
Man, is the Sea your master? Sea,… This is the song of brave men who… Ceaselessly watching to save you,… Soundly asleep in your state room,… Life is a dream, they tell us, but…
If you fancy that your people came… If you hint of higher breeding by… If you’re proud because of fortune… Then I’ll play no second fiddle:… If you think that your profession…
Now up and down the siding brown The great black crows are flyin’, And down below the spur, I know, Another `milker’s’ dyin’; The crops have withered from the g…
Wrap me up in me stockwhip and bla… And bury me deep down below, Where this piffle and sham won’t d… In the land where the coolibahs gr… For I’ve stayed with some well-to…
All is well—in a prison—to-night,… I must speak, for the sake of my h… For what does it matter to me if t… I’m as free as I ever shall be—th… I am free! I am haunted no more b…
They cheered him from the wharf—it… His hand went to his scarf—his tho… Oh, he was “Jolly Good”, they san… The money lender stood unknown amo… He’d taken him aside, while trembl…
There’s the whitebox and pine on t… Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and… There is many another, but dearest… And the king of them all was the s… Then of stringy-bark slabs were th…
While tyrants rule the land, Beneath the Irish skies; While e’er the iron hand Upon our people lies; While sons are driven forth
When the caravans of wool-teams cl… On a spur among the mountains stoo… It was built of bark and saplings,… But ‘twas good enough for bushmen… Just a quiet little shanty kept by…
Fools can parrot-cry the prophet w… And the blind can see the danger w… Truth was never cynicism, death or… “Told-you-so” is not a warning—Pa… Blame will aid no man nor country…
Old time is tramping close to-day—… A mighty change is on the way, an’… Some dust’ll fly from beery coats—… I’m glad that wimin has the votes—… I’m just a trifle scared—For why?…
Wide solemn eyes that question me, Wee hand that pats my head— Where only two have stroked before… And both of them are dead. ‘Ah, poo-ah Daddy mine,’ she says…