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…

The old year went, and the new ret… The cheque was spent that the shea… and the sheds were all cut out; The publican’s words were short an… and the publican’s looks were blac…

So I sit and write and ponder, wh… Seeing visions “over yonder” of th… In the corner– not a vision– but a… Stand a box of ammunition and a ri… And in this, the living present, l…

'Where are you going with your hor… And the townsfolk still at rest? Where are you going, with your swa… And the night still in the West? Your clothes are worn, and your ch…

Now, I think there is a likeness… For he did a lot of trampin’ long… He was 'union’ when the workers fi… And I’m glad that old St Peter k… When the ancient agitator and his…

From Crow’s Nest here by Sydney… Where crows had nests of old I see the Range where day goes do… The dim blue in the gold. And sometimes wonder, half in doub…

The breezes waved the silver grass… Waist-high along the siding, And to the creek we ne’er could pa… Three boys on bare-back riding; Beneath the sheoaks in the bend

They were men of many nations, the… They were men in many places, and… Men of many types and faces, but,… They were men I met in trouble, a… Some were friends, but most were s…

By Lawson’s Hill, near Mudgee, On old Eurunderee— The place they called “New Pipecl… Where the diggers used to be— On a dreary old selection,

While they struggle on exhausted, While they plough through bog and… While they drag their sick and wou… Where the tracks are drenched with… While the Fates seemed joined to…

A black-sheep, from England, who… Riding where the stockmen ride— He sat by the hut when the day’s w… Lone huts where the black sheep bi… “I’m tired of my life!” to his lon…

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.

The camp of high-class spielers, Who sneered in summer dress, And doo-dah dilettante, And scornful “venuses”— House agents, and storekeepers,

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,

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…