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Poems about Lyrics
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Oh one who enchants the wise, did I lie out of greed to be known as your foremost devotee on this earth?
I'll sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
Some love to roam
Where the glasses foam,
The doors are shut, the windows fast;
Outside the gust is driving past,
My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
The man who rightly acts without coercion
When I was at home I was down on my luck,
And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck;
Be ye stockmen or no, to my story give ear.
Alas! for poor Jack, no more shall we hear
O son of the daughter of the king of the mountains, O kind hearted one!
There grows a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard,
And white are the blossoms o't in our kail-yard
Come, sign the Temperance pledge,
Thou on life's tottering edge,
In the days before the high tide
Swept away the towers of sand
THE world's heart is kindless and grey and unholy,
As the head of the wandering Jew,
Shadows of the twilight falling
On the mountain's brow,
A ship there was, and she went to sea
(Away O, my Clyde-built clipper!)
Night settles on this mountain village;
Sunshine has filled the room
with clear golden specks of dust.
The saddle was hung on the stockyard rail,
And the poor old horse stood whisking his tail,
A harper came over the Danube so wide,
And he came into Alaric's hall,
Hurrah for the Lachlan, boys, and join me in a cheer;
That's the place to go to make a cheque every year.
My name is old Jack Palmer,
I'm a man of olden days,
If those dark eyes have gazed on me,
Unconscious of their power—
The Story of Ill May Day, in the reign of king Henry the Eighth, and why it was so called; and how Queen Katherine begged the lives of t
THE weather had been sultry for a fortnight's time or more,
And the shearers had been driving might and main,
Gather quickly
Out of darkness
The sun is rising dimly red,
The wind is wailing low and dread;
Little brown baby-bird, lapped in your nest,
Wrapped in your nest,
Let Romanists all at Confessional kneel,
Let the Jew with disgust turn from it,
There's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
There's castocks in Stra'bogie,
I will not ask one glance from thee,
Lest, fondly, I should linger yet,
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