TWO COUPLES are drifting the… (Men of the world know well) From the ballroom glare as the nig… (Men of the world can tell). Many are round them who know, and…

He longed to be a Back-Blocks Ba… And fame he wished to win— He wrote at night and studied hard (He read THE BULLETIN); He sent in “stuff” unceasingly,

Rolling out to fight for England,… Rolling North to fight for Englan… Fighting hard for France and Engl… Fighting hard for Australasia and… Fighting hard.

Oh, Scotty, have you visited the… And did you see the portraits of t… The portraits made by Longstaff,… Of the King and Queen and Lawson… The King is robed in royal state,…

On western plain and eastern hill Where once my fancy ranged, The station hands are riding still And they are little changed. But I have lost in London gloom

The night too quickly passes And we are growing old, So let us fill our glasses And toast the Days of Gold; When finds of wondrous treasure

It is New Year’s Day and I rise… The Bards have commenced to fill… They’re patting their binjies with… That a binjied bard is a bard inde… Old chaps,

I’ve done with joys an’ misery, An’ why should I repine? There’s no one knows the past but… An’ that ol’ dog o’ mine. We camp an’ walk an’ camp an’ walk…

Because he had sinned and suffered… And because of his wonderful sympa… Born and bred of the people, he kn… And because he had struggled throu… Speaker and leader and poet, tall…

Set me back for twenty summers— For I’m tired of cities now— Set my feet in red-soil furrows And my hands upon the plough, With the two 'Black Brothers’ tru…

’Tis sunrise over Watson, Where I sailed out to sea, On that wild run to London That wrecked and ruined me. The beauty of the morning

So the time seems come at last, And the drums go rolling past, And above them in the sunlight La… They are marching with the sun, But I look in vain for one

“Nobody’s enemy save his own”— (What shall it be in the end?)— Still by the nick-name he is known… “Everyone’s Friend.” “Nobody’s Enemy” stands alone

I am back from up the country—very… Seeking for the Southern poets’ l… I have lost a lot of idols, which… Burnt a lot of fancy verses, and… Further out may be the pleasant sc…

This poem is from a short story by Henry Lawson, “Jack Cornstalk”, the first section written especially for the story, with the other sections (interspersed within the rest of the story...