But what’s the use of writing ‘bus… Though editors demand it— For city folk, and farming folk, Can never understand it. They’re blind to what the bushman…

No one lives in Golden Gully, for… And its clay shall never sully blu… For the diggers long have vanished… And the bush, by diggers banished,… Now, when dying Daylight slowly d…

When we’ve arrived by boat or rail… And humped our heavy gladstones to… And when we’ve had a wash and brus… And ate a hearty country meal—our… (Damn the city!)

'Twixt the coastline and the borde… In the days before the bushman was… An’ they say the local meeting was… Which was ended pretty often by an… An’ 'tis said the city talent very…

They sing of the grandeur of cliff… But the cliffs of the ocean are tr… And I long to wander and dream an… Where the cliffs by the ocean run… To the northward far as the eye ca…

I HATE this grinding poverty— To toil, and pinch, and borrow, And be for ever haunted by The spectre of to-morrow. It breaks the strong heart of a ma…

The diggings were just in their gl… With recommendations, he told me,… He read me his recommendations—he… The first one was signed by an El… The meenister called him 'ungodly—…

If they missed my face in Farmers… When the landlord lit the lamp, They would grin and say in their c… 'Oh! he’s down at the Gipsy camp!… But they’d read of things in the…

I would never waste the hours Of the time that is mine own, Writing verses about flowers For their own sweet sakes alone; Gushing as a schoolgirl gushes

Wide solemn eyes that question me, Wee hand that pats my head— Where only two have stroked before… And both of them are dead. ‘Ah, poo-ah Daddy mine,’ she says…

She’s milking in the rain and dark… As did her mother in the past. The wretched shed of poles and bar… Rent by the wind, is leaking fast. She sees the “home-roof” black and…

They say he was thrown and run ove… But that is sheer nonsense, of cou… I taught him to ride when a kiddy, And Dan wasn’t thrown from his ho… The horse that Dan rode was a dev…

Now this is the creed from the Bo… Should be simple and plain to a du… “If a man’s in a hole you must pas… Were he jail-bird or gentleman onc…

A fresh sweet-scented beauty Came tripping down the street; She was as fair a vision As you might chance to meet. A masher raised his cady

In Possum Land the nights are fai… The streams are fresh and clear; No dust is in the moonlit air; No traffic jars the ear. With Possums gambolling overhead,