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Barcroft Henry Boake's Poetry, by popularity

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  • Ah, if man could only wash his life, if he only could,
    Panning off the evil deeds, keeping but the good
    39 lines
  • There’s a nice little hatpeg that hangs on the wall
    That long from its owner has parted,
    68 lines, 3 comments
  • No more would she madden her lovers, demurely,
    with womanish guile
    168 lines
  • Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell mell of it,
    Thousands of voices all blent into one:
    79 lines
  • Dozens of damp little curls;
    One little short upper lip;
    125 lines, 2 comments
  • Long time beside the squatter's gate
    A great grey Box-Tree, early, late,
    238 lines
  • Why doth he seek to go?
    Do I not love him.”
    49 lines
  • Brookong station lay half-asleep
    Dozed in the waning western glare
    103 lines
  • What made the porter stare so hard? what made the porter stare
    And eye the tall young woman and the bundle that she bare?
    37 lines
  • There's a fellow on the station
    (He dropped in on a call,
    48 lines
  • A sweat-dripping horse and a half-naked myall,
    And a message: ‘Come out to the back of the run—
    122 lines
  • There came a lonely Briton to the town,
    A solitary Briton with a mission,
    56 lines
  • Will she spring with a blush from the arms of Dawn,
    When the sleepy songsters prune
    70 lines
  • Hark, the sound of it drawing nearer,
    Clink of hobble and brazen bell;
    54 lines, 1 comment
  • The rum was rich and rare,
    There were wagers in the air,
    105 lines
  • 'Tis a song of the Never Never land—
    Set to the tune of a scorching gale
    54 lines
  • KELLY the Ranger half opened an eye
    To wink at the Army passing by,
    141 lines
  • Babs Malone Now the squatters and the cockies,
    Shearers, trainers, and their jockeys
    131 lines
  • YOU say we bushmen cannot love—
    Our lives are too prosaic: hence
    41 lines
  • She was born in the season of fire,
    When a mantle of murkiness lay
    90 lines
  • Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly—
    The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky:
    38 lines
  • Adown the grass-grown paths we strayed,
    The evening cowslips ope’d
    48 lines, 1 comment
  • I Love the ancient boundary-fence,
        That mouldering chock-and-log.
    42 lines
  • Yes, there it hangs upon the wall
      And never gives a sound,
    61 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
  • With her raven curls and her saucy smile,
    Brown eyes that glow with a changeful light
    132 lines, 6 comments
  • A Valentine The Bree was up; the floods were out
    Around the hut of Culgo Jim:
    49 lines
  • Jack never thanked the donor of this excellent advice,
    As the glass fell through his fingers with a crash.
    189 lines
  • The first flush of grey light, the herald of daylight,
    Is dimly outlining the musterer's camp,
    140 lines
  • The snow lies deep on hill and dale,
    In rocky gulch and grassy vale,
    147 lines, 1 comment
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