Adown the grass-grown paths we strayed,
The evening cowslips ope’d
48 lines, 1 comment
Far reaching down's a solid sea sunk everlastingly to rest,
And yet whose billows seem to be for ever heaving toward the west
86 lines
A Valentine The Bree was up; the floods were out
Around the hut of Culgo Jim:
49 lines
Long time beside the squatter's gate
A great grey Box-Tree, early, late,
238 lines
She was born in the season of fire,
When a mantle of murkiness lay
90 lines
A sweat-dripping horse and a half-naked myall,
And a message: ‘Come out to the back of the run—
122 lines
Babs Malone Now the squatters and the cockies,
Shearers, trainers, and their jockeys
131 lines
KELLY the Ranger half opened an eye
To wink at the Army passing by,
141 lines
Will she spring with a blush from the arms of Dawn,
When the sleepy songsters prune
70 lines
The fight was over, and the battle won
A soldier, who beneath his chieftain’s eye
14 lines
YOU say we bushmen cannot love—
Our lives are too prosaic: hence
41 lines
No more would she madden her lovers, demurely,
with womanish guile
168 lines
Why doth he seek to go?
Do I not love him.”
49 lines
With her raven curls and her saucy smile,
Brown eyes that glow with a changeful light
132 lines, 6 comments
Ah, if man could only wash his life, if he only could,
Panning off the evil deeds, keeping but the good
39 lines
Then old Mother Brown got the horrors around her:
(I think it was pineapple-rum drove her daft)
135 lines, 1 comment
Jack never thanked the donor of this excellent advice,
As the glass fell through his fingers with a crash.
189 lines
Full a dozen red lips patter:
“Who is going to ride with who?”
60 lines, 5 comments
There's a fellow on the station
(He dropped in on a call,
48 lines
There came a lonely Briton to the town,
A solitary Briton with a mission,
56 lines
'Tis a song of the Never Never land—
Set to the tune of a scorching gale
54 lines
Brookong station lay half-asleep
Dozed in the waning western glare
103 lines
Dozens of damp little curls;
One little short upper lip;
125 lines, 2 comments
Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly—
The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky:
38 lines
Hark, the sound of it drawing nearer,
Clink of hobble and brazen bell;
54 lines, 1 comment
Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell mell of it,
Thousands of voices all blent into one:
79 lines
I Love the ancient boundary-fence,
That mouldering chock-and-log.
42 lines
I've a kiss from a warmer lover
Than maiden earth can be:
47 lines, 2 comments
Now the squatters and the “cockies,”
Shearers, trainers and their jockeys
193 lines
On Nungar the mists of the morning hung low,
The beetle-browed hills brooded silent and black,
160 lines
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