There’s a bleak, black world witho… And the rain falls fast; And the wind, with a whine and a s… Blows buffeting past To wail thro’ the tortured trees,

Dolefully and drearily Come I with the spring; Wearily and cerily My threnody I sing. Hear my drear, discordant note

‘Which reminds me,’ said O’Brien ‘And ’tis not a word of lyin’ Of a summertime way back in eighty… Whin a felly name of Brady An’ his sister (quite a lady)

‘Ah, wot’s the use?' she sez. 'L… Why can’t I go to ‘ell in my own… I never arst you ’ere to mag an’ m… Nor yet,' she sez, 'to pray. I’ll take wot’s comin’, an’ whine…

Now, I always have preserved a ce… Quite definite in reference to Wo… ('Tis futility concealing That I have the Weary Feeling And tendency perennial to shirk)

They fights their fights and they… As they did before the white man c… Far in the unexplored Outback, Where still Australia’s mostly bl… They little know of white men’s la…

‘Before the war,’ she sighs. ‘Be… Then blinks 'er eyes, an’ tries to… ‘Ole scenes,’ she sez, 'don’t look… Ole ways,' she sez, ‘seems to ’ave… The pleasures that we had don’t se…

Spring surely must be near. High… The kind blue heavens bend to timb… And here, this morning, is the pic… That I have learned to love the b… I hear Flame Robin call

By White Horse Tavern, White Ho… In olden days wound down; And many a waggon bore its load And many a bullock felt the goad From town to country town.

At the meeting of the waters Where the dark tree shadows play Wangaratta’s sons and daughters Dream the drowsy hours away; Placid see the season’s greeting

Listen, Elaine. Tho’ I’m not ma… I like a little flutter now and th… But I maintain you would not be d… The family, or look like some old… If you just wore - Now, just a mi…

Blimey! Ain’t it gittin’ tough? Life gits 'arder day by day. First a bloke ain’t got enough Words for wot 'e wants to say; Then some nark; with nix to do,

Look at 'em! Toffs with their bi… Drivin’ along in their motor cars. Nothin’ at all like the olden days When the blokes came by in their b… When a cut o’ the joint and a hunk…

In the everlasting summer, when th… and the asphalt of the footpath cu… When you’re creased and crabbed an… And the persperation’s drippin’ in… There’s a penetratin’ odor gets ab…

Old Ben, the pensioner, is going… Huddled in the mail-car, he turns… On this familiar forest scene, the… And nought could lure him from it… He has loved it with a fierce love…