Who is Barcroft Boake

Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake (26 March 1866 – 2 May 1892) was an Australian poet.

Background

Born in Sydney, Boake worked as a surveyor and a boundary rider, but is best remembered for his poetry, a volume of which was published five years after his death.

Boake was eldest son of Barcroft Capel Boake (b. Dublin, 1838) and his wife Florence Eva, née Clarke (1846–1879).

In July 1886 Boake joined E. Commins, a surveyor, and had experience as a field-assistant, working for some time in the Monaro (New South Wales). After spending two years in the surveying camp Boake was disinclined to return to the city, took service as a boundary rider, and worked in New South Wales and Queensland. In May 1890 Boake joined W. A. Lipscomb, a surveyor, and remaine...
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Barcroft Boake Poems

  • How Babs Malone Cut Down The Field
    Now the squatters and the "cockies,"
    Shearers, trainers and their jockeys
    Had gathered them together for a meeting on the flat;
    They had mustered all their forces, ...
  • To A Hatpeg
    There's a nice little hatpeg that hangs on the wall
    That long from its owner has parted,
    And though he is wandering far beyond call
    Like him it is always true hearted. ...
  • Kelly's Conversion
    Kelly the Ranger half opened an eye
    To wink at the Army passing by,
    While his hot breath, thick with the taint of beer,
    Came forth from his lips in a drunken jeer. ...
  • A Valentine
    A Valentine The Bree was up; the floods were out
    Around the hut of Culgo Jim:
    The hand of God had broke the drought
    And filled the channels to the brim: ...
  • Featherstonhaugh
    Brookong station lay half-asleep
    Dozed in the waning western glare
    ('Twas before the run had stocked with sheep
    And only cattle depastured there) ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Barcroft Boake

Never 22 Time 17 Light 17 Long 16 Heart 16 Life 15 Away 14 White 13 Death 13 Night 13


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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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