THE Separated Women Go lying through the land, For they have plenty dresses, And money, too, in hand; They married brutes and drunkards

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…

Fire lighted; on the table a meal… A lantern in the stable; a jingle… The mail-coach looming darkly by l… The growl of sleepy voices; a cand… A stumble in the passage of folk w…

They can’t hear in West o’ London… Deaf to all save lies and laughter… Tailored brutes and splendid harlo… They can’t hear the warning thunde… More drums! War drums!

They’d parted but a year before—sh… She stammer’d, blushed, held out h… How could he know that all the whi… He called her ‘Miss le Brook,’ an… They’d parted but a year before; t…

So at last a toll they’ll levy For the passing fool who sings— Take the harp grown dull and heavy (With the dried blood on the strin… Let us sing, and sing right gaily,

When the caravans of wool-teams cl… On a spur among the mountains stoo… It was built of bark and saplings,… But ‘twas good enough for bushmen… Just a quiet little shanty kept by…

A long farewell to Genoa That rises to the skies, Where the barren coast of Italy Like our own coastline lies. A sad farewell to Genoa,

I notice in “Answers to Correspondents” that the Bulletin has no sympathy for, or can’t understand the poet bloke that wishes to be buried at sea. I don’t wish to be buried anywhere jus...

The centuries found me to nations… My people have crowned me and made… My royal regalia is love, truth, a… A girl called Australia– I’ve com… Though no fields of conquest grew…

When the heavy sand is yielding ba… And across the distant timber you… When your head is hot and aching,… And it’s fifteen miles to water in… Don’t give up, don’t be down-heart…

AMONG the sons of Englishmen Full many feel like real tears, For, though he reigned but scarcel… He bore the burden many years. He lived the dead past doubly down…

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…

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