All Poems
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On the Wallaby
© Henry Lawson
Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead,
And the possums may gambol in trees overhead;
I am humping my bluey far out on the land,
And the prints of my bluchers sink deep in the sand:
I am out on the wallaby humping my drum,
And I came by the tracks where the sundowners come.
I'll tell you what you Wanderers
© Henry Lawson
I'll tell you what you wanderers, who drift from town to town;
Don't look into a good girl's eyes, until you've settled down.
It's hard to go away alone and leave old chums behind-
It's hard to travel steerage when your tastes are more refined-
There Was A Time, I Need Not Name
© George Gordon Byron
There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
Knocked Up
© Henry Lawson
I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought,
And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out;
I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow --
I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now.
November
© William Cullen Bryant
Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,
Shadows Before
© Henry Lawson
"Like clouds o'er the South are the nations who reign
On fair islands that we would command;
But clouds that are darker and denser than these
Have sailed from an Isle in the Northern Seas
And rest on our Southern Land.
The Change Has Come
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
THE change has come, and Helen sleeps
Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deeps
The Christ of the 'Never'
© Henry Lawson
By his worth in the light that shall search men
And prove---ay! and justify---each,
I place him in front of all churchmen
Who feel not, who know not---but preach!
Fall In, My Men, Fall In
© Henry Lawson
The short hour's halt is ended,
The red gone from the west,
The broken wheel is mended,
And the dead men laid to rest.
The Wreck Of The `Derry Castle'
© Henry Lawson
Ocean's salty tongues are licking
Round the faces of the drowned,
And a cruel blade seems sticking
Through my heart and turning round.
Australian Bards And Bush Reviewers
© Henry Lawson
While you use your best endeavour to immortalise in verse
The gambling and the drink which are your country's greatest curse,
While you glorify the bully and take the spieler's part --
You're a clever southern writer, scarce inferior to Bret Harte.
Hero and Leander
© John Donne
Both robb'd of air, we both lie in one ground ;
Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drown'd
Australian Engineers
© Henry Lawson
Ah, well! but the case seems hopeless, and the pen might write in vain;
Address To A Child During A Boisterous Winter By My Sister
© William Wordsworth
WHAT way does the wind come? What way does he go?
He rides over the water, and over the snow,
Middleton's Rouseabout
© Henry Lawson
Tall and freckled and sandy,
Face of a country lout;
This was the picture of Andy,
Middleton's Rouseabout.
Tommy Atkins' Way
© Edgar Albert Guest
He was battle-scarred and ugly with the marks of shot and shell,
And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring tale to tell,
So we asked him where he got it and what disarranged his face,
And he answered, blushing scarlet: "In a nawsty little place."
The Men We Might Have Been
© Henry Lawson
When God's wrath-cloud is o'er me,
Affrighting heart and mind;
When days seem dark before me,
And days seem black behind;
