YOU tell me these great lords hav… I say they have degraded it. Look… When ever did they let the Poet s… The Painter paint, the Sculptor h… The Music raise her heavenly voic…

SIMPLE You were, and good. No… Beat than the heart within your ge… Labour You had, and happiness, an… And were the maid of nations. Now… To feverish life, feeling the pois…

(Melbourne) I CAME to buy a book. It was a… Down in a narrow quiet street, and… They kept, I knew, these socialis… I entered. All was bare, but clea…

‘Chant of the Firemen’ ‘THIS is the steamer’s pit. The ovens like dragons of fire Glare thro’ their close-lidded eye… With restless hungry desire.

‘LIBERTY?’ Is that the cry, th… We have heard it oft of yore. Once it had, we think, a meaning; Let us hear it now no more. We have read what history tells us

(Song of the American Sons of La… The Song O WE knew so well, dear Father, When we answered to your call, And the Southern Moloch stricken

This is what I pray In this horrible day, In this terrible night, God will give me light. Such as I have had,

UP from the oven pit, The hell where poor men toil, At the sunset hour he comes Clean-clothed, washed from soil. On the fo’c’s’le head he kneels,

CROUCHED in the terrible land, The circle of pitiless ice, With frozen bloody feet And her pestilential summer’s Fever-throb in her brow,

All the heat and the glow and the…    of the summer afternoon; the scent of the sweet-briar bush    over bowing grass-blades and br… the birds that flit and pass;

BEYOND the Night, down o’er the… I see light’s harbinger of day rel… Upon the false gleam of the ante-d… Lo, the fair heaven of sun-pursuin… Beyond the lampless sleep and peri…

(A Memory of August, 1883) I STOOD in the ghastly gleaming… Of the dreadful river that rolls h… Woe; And mine eyes were heavy with slee…

DOWN in the woodlands, where the… Close to the breezy river, by the… Of ferns and flowers that shun the… But gather round the lizard-haunte… And listen to the birds’ sweet syl…

NOT for the thought that burns on… Heat that the heat has turned from… The passion of the lone rememberin… One with the patience day must see… Not for the shafts the lying foeme…

Men and boys, O fathers, brothers… Burst these fetters round you boun… Women, sisters, wives and mothers, Lift your faces from the ground! O Democracy, O People,