#AustralianWriters
Are you, like me, a peevish brat, With feelings extra-fine? Are you disposed to whip the cat When misadventure lays your flat? Then paste this memo in your hat—
You argue ' as sympathy governs… That Wisdom distributes the capon… Indulging the sinful, and stinting… Or starving the wicked, and fatten… You are wrong to the Evil One; he…
O Time! Time! Time! Thou wondrous mystery! Within whose rune and rhyme Lies all Man’s history Before Creation’s birth
O kid! with face of healthy tan, With lunch-bag, books and slate; You needn’t long to be a man, Self-confident and great; For ever since the world began
Lincoln is gone ' who ruled the… From the Pacific to the Atlantic’… And cold and nerveless lies the mi… That struck the fetters from the n… Lincoln is gone ' and now for ev…
Now the truce of night brings resp… And in listlessness I pace the ri… Where the solitude is wounded by n… But illicit fancy will not be deni… For the darkening flat reiterates…
In spite of his imposing plea, A freeman whom the truth makes fre… Is often fairly up a tree, And marvels why it should be thus. Then reasoning in his tin-pot way
The Seraph-song of morning’s prim… That hail’d Messiah’s birth, The charter of a coming time When Love shall rule the earth, Rings from yon far Judaean hill—
Sing the evil days we see, and the… In such doggerel as dejection will… We are pilgrims, sorrow-led, with… No elysian Up the Country for us… For the settlements extend till th…
“Are you the Cove?” He spoke the… As freeman only can. The squatter freezingly inquir’d, “What do you mean, my man?” “Are you the Cove?” His voice was…
Opposed to Jewish Temple-rites, Strange to the lore of Greece, That message comes from starry hei… A key to lasting Peace. What-e’er our creed, we own its th…
(A Romance.) December 11th, 1867. The fleecy clouds had passed away Before the bright approach of day, And now the morning’s radiance shi…
No two leaves that wave in Arden, No two grass blades on the plain, No two flowers that gem the garden… Show as twins in form or vein, No two grains of desert sand
Would I were a profit monger, Buying cheap, and selling dear, Groceries, or something stronger, Toys, or pipes, or sporting gear, Wrong, maybe, but ain’t it wronger
A gentle loving thoughtful boy, But happy gay and bright: A gleam of sunshine from the sky That filled a home with light. And whether busied with his play