They sunk a post into the ground Where their leaders bade them stop… It was a man’s height, and they sp… A crosspiece to the top. They bound it well with thongs of…

Sing the strong, proud song of La… Toss the ringing music high; Liberty’s a nearer neighbour Than she was in days gone by. Workmen’s weary wives and daughter…

Why are the sheoaks forever sighin… (Sheoaks that sigh when the wind i… Why are the dead hopes forever dyi… (Dead hopes that died and are with… As you make it and what you will.

Down here where the ships loom lar… The gloom when the sea-storms veer… Down here on the south-west margin Of the western hemisphere, Where the might of a world-wide oc…

While you use your best endeavour… The gambling and the drink which a… While you glorify the bully and ta… You’re a clever southern writer, s… If you sing of waving grasses when…

Will you allow me space in your columns to refer to a social question of some importance, and that is with regard to the utterly reckless way in which young men are drafted off f...

The rattling “donkey” ceases, The bell says we must part, You long slab of good-nature, And poetry and art! We’ll miss your smile in Sydney,

So you’re writing for a paper? W… To be writing yards of drivel for… You are young and educated, and a… But you’ll never run a paper like… Though in point of education I am…

Did you hear the children singing,… Did you hear the children singing… In the sunshine and the rain, As they’ll never sing again— Hear the little school-girls singi…

I was drifting in the drizzle past… Which, I’m told, is very tony—and… And I somehow fell a-thinking of… Of a palace in Australia called T… Just a little six-room’d shanty bu…

Who’s that mysterious rider, Full-sized, yet far away, Seen by the Western-sider— A spectre of the day? On ridge or seeming high line

The Lady of the Motor Car she st… Her face is like the stone, my fri… Her face is like the stone, my fri… Because her heart is dead, my frie… The Lady of the Motor Car she sp…

There are writers great and writer… And writers on the spree; And writers short and writers tall… And bards of low degree. There are artists small and artist…

Tall and freckled and sandy, Face of a country lout; This was the picture of Andy, Middleton’s Rouseabout. Type of a coming nation,

Three bushmen one morning rode up… And one of them called for the dri… They’d only returned from a trip t… And, eager to greet them, the land… He absently poured out a glass of…