#AustralianWriters
Ole Mother Moon ‘oo yanks ’er bea… Acrost the sky when we’ve grown si… She’s like some fat ole Jane 'oo… On all concerned, an’ smooth our f… An’, like a woman, tries to 'ide a…
Kids! Hundreds of ‘em for the farmer! K… Thousands of ’em for the country!… Bids Loud for England’s surplus youngs…
The thrush is in the wattle tree,… He’s callin’ to his little wife fo… He’s wantin’ all the bush to know… He sings it over fifty times, an’… For it’s Mornin’! Mornin’! The w…
‘Young sir,’ ‘E sez . . . Like th… Romantic like, as if me dream was… ’Is dress was fancy, an’ 'is style… An’ me? I ‘ope I know ’ow to be’a… In 'igh-toned company, for ain’t…
The earliest lady in the land, Her pride of caste is high. Where blue Corio’s gleaming stran… Dream 'neath a peaceful sky, She sat her down by her five towns…
Bountiful rain, we have yearned fo… When, thro’ the drought days, ill… Thankfulness vast in the past we d… When you have come at the end of o… Now you have come, is our subseque…
Now, Ma-til-der! Ain’t cher dres… Last as ushul. Move yerself, you… Are you goin’ to lie there lazin’, W’ile I—Nell, put down that basin… Go an’ see if Bill has got the po…
Six o’clock. From the railway ya… The engine toots; careering hard, A milk-cart rattles by and stops; A magpie calls from the gum-tree t… The pub 'boots’, sweeping out the…
This is the listening week of the… Listening-in. A-cock and alert is the national e… Listening-in. All over the land in the country t…
Down thro’ the ages these same sti… Have played on man their knavish t… Down thro’ the ages these false li… Have been as blessings or as whips To scourge poor man to actions ras…
Where Feathertop frowns thro’ the… Where Buffalo broods on high, Dwells she, a lass of royal blood, And a sparkle lights her eye The clear, clean glint of the sun…
Old Black Jacko Smokes tobacco In his little pipe of clay. Puff, puff, puff, He never has enough
When you have gone and I have gon… Beyond the ken of earthly things, Yet watch the old race carry on As to precarious life it clings, Gazing together from afar,
Each poet that I know (he said) Has something funny in his head, Some wandering growth or queer dis… That gives to him strange unease. If such a thing he hasn’t got,
Day after day, week after burning… A ruthless sun has sucked the fore… Morn after anxious morn men’s glan… The hills, hard-etched against a h… Gay blossoms droop and die.