'Tis very odd that poets should suppose There is no poetry about a nose,
Love stirs the pulses of my deeper thought, Muses on things that were and things to be,
Oh, my head! my head! my head!
Lack! for my poor unfortunate head!
Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
There is an insect that people avoid
(Whence is derived the verb 'to flee').
HE surely must be wrong who loving fears;
And does not flee when beauty first appears.
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy-do?
“When I’m discharged at Liverpool ‘n’ draws my bit o’ pay,
I won’t come to sea no more;
There was a red-haired man who had no eyes or ears.
Neither did he have any hair, so he was called red-haired theoretically.
The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!
Bishop, and abbot, and prior were there;
There came a stranger to Walgett town,
To Walgett town when the sun was low,
It was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub,
That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club.
Ah blame me not, Catcott, if from the right way
My notions and actions run far.
The sun may shine, the rain may fall,
And the world roll round about, -
A norrible tale I'm going to tell
Of the woeful tragedy which befell
Through driving mists I seemed to see
A Thing that smirked and smiled:
The day was hotter than words can tell,
So hot the jelly-fish wouldn't jell.
He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
God in His infinite wisdom
Did not make me very wise-
My Uncle Bill! My Uncle Bill!
How doth my heart with anguish thrill!
It was out on the Bogan near Billabong Creek
Where the sky shines like brass seven days in the week,
His eyes were dim; so here he lies,
Whose death came after his dim-ise.
Young Colin was as stout a boy
As ever gave a maiden joy;
Eximium decus hoc fecit te scandere rerum
Copia, non virtus, fraus tua, non tua laus.
"HALT! Who goes there?” The sentry’s call
Rose on the midnight air
Then old Mother Brown got the horrors around her:
(I think it was pineapple-rum drove her daft)
Wot's in a name?-- she sez . . . An' then she sighs,
An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes.
Let us cease our idle chatter,
Let the tears bedew our cheek,
IT’S singin’ in an’ out,
An’ feelin’ full of grace;
Women wear trousers
To trail round the shops;
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