Henry Lawson Poems

  • 251.  
    The Eagle screams at the beck of trade, so Spain, as the world goes round,
    Must wrestle the right to live or die from the sons of the land she found; For, as in the days when the buccaneer was abroad on the Spanish Main,
  • 252.  
    Listen! The end draws nearer,
    Nearer the morningâ??or nightâ?? And I see with a vision clearer
  • 253.  
    It is up from out the alleys, from the alleys dark and vileâ??
    It is up from out the alleys I have struggled for a whileâ?? Just to breathe the breath of Heaven ere my devil drags me down,
  • 254.  
    Above the ashes straight and tall,
    Through ferns with moisture dripping, I climb beneath the sandstone wall,
  • 255.  
    â??Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum â??trapâ??
    On the edge of the Never-Never, Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,
  • 256.  
    Over there, above the jetty, stands the mansion of the Vardens,
    With a tennis ground and terrace, and a flagstaff in the gardens: They are gentlemen and ladiesâ??theyâ??ve been â??toffsâ?? for generations,
  • 257.  
    Down the street as I was drifting with the city's human tide,
    Came a ghost, and for a moment walked in silence by my side -- Now my heart was hard and bitter, and a bitter spirit he,
  • 258.  
    A writer wrote of the hearts of men, and he followed their tracks afar;
    For his was a spirit that forced his pen to write of the things that are. His heart grew tired of the truths he told, for his life was hard and grim;
  • 259.  
    With our boundaries swung to the circling seas and a nation named to the world!
    And the six-starred flag of our destinies on every port unfurled! God grant from Greed or the dust of sleep â?? or the right by a lie maintained â??
  • 260.  
    They say, in all kindness, Iâ??m out of the huntâ??
    Too old and too deaf to be sent to the Front. A scribbler of stories, a maker of songs,
  • 261.  
    SO at last a toll theyâ??ll levy
    For the passing fool who singsâ?? Take the harp grown dull and heavy
  • 262.  
    Iâ??ve followed all my tracks and ways,from old bark school to Leicester Square,
    Iâ??ve been right back to boyhoodâ??s days, and found no light or pleasure there. But every dream and every trackâ??and there were many that I knewâ??
  • 263.  
    BEATEN back in sad dejection,
    After years of weary toil On that burning hot selection
  • 264.  
    He's somewhere up in Queensland,
    The old folks used to say; Heâ??s somewhere up in Queensland,
  • 265.  
    THE SAND was heavy on our feet,
    A Christmas sky was oâ??er us, And half a mile through dust and heat
  • 266.  
    You'd call the man a senseless fool,â??
    A blockhead or an ass, Whoâ??d dare to say he saw the ghost
  • 267.  
    While they struggle on exhausted,
    While they plough through bog and flood, While they drag their sick and wounded
  • 268.  
    Fight through ignorance, want, and care â??
    Through the griefs that crush the spirit; Push your way to a fortune fair,
  • 269.  
    Light on the towns and cities, and peace for evermore!
    The Big Five met in the world's light as many had met before, And the future of man is settled and there shall be no more war.
  • 270.  
    OH, the strength of the toil of those twenty years, with father, and master, and men!
    And the clearer brain of the business man, who has held his own for ten: Oh, the glorious freedom from business fears, and the rest from domestic strife!
  • 271.  
    It was built of bark and poles, and the floor was full of holes
    Where each leak in rainy weather made a pool; And the walls were mostly cracks lined with calico and sacks â??
  • 272.  
    It was the Man from Waterloo,
    When work in town was slack, Who took the track as bushmen do,
  • 273.  
    If they missed my face in Farmersâ?? Arms
    When the landlord lit the lamp, They would grin and say in their country way,
  • 274.  
    When youâ??re suffering hard for your sins, old man,
    When you wake to trouble and sleep illâ?? Oh, this is the clack of the middle class,
  • 275.  
    SO YER travâ??linâ?? for yer pleasure while yer writinâ?? for the press?
    Anâ?? yer huntinâ?? arter â??copyâ??â??well, Iâ??ve heerâ??d oâ?? that. I guess You are gorn ter write a story that is gorn ter be yer best,
  • 276.  
    He was lengthsman on the railway, and his station scarce deserved
    That â??pre-eminence in sorrowâ? of the Majesty he served, But as dear to him and precious were the gifts reclaimed so soonâ??
  • 277.  
    Fear ye not the stormy future, for the Battle Hymn is strong,
    And the armies of Australia shall not march without a song; The glorious words and music of Australia's song shall come
  • 278.  
    THE CROSS-CUT and the crowbar cross, and hang them on the wall,
    And make a greenhide rack to fit the wedges and the maul, The â??doneâ? long-handled shovel and the thong-bound axe that fell,
  • 279.  
    The lovely Port of Sydney
    Lies laughing to the sky, The bonny Port of Sydney,
  • 280.  
    I MIND the days when ladies fair
    Helped on my overcoat, And tucked the silken handkerchief
  • 281.  
    Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead,
    And the possums may gambol in trees overhead; I am humping my bluey far out on the land,
  • 282.  
    Where the seasons are divided and the bush begins to change,
    and the links are rather broken in the Great Dividing Range; where the atmosphere is hazy underneath the summer sky,
  • 283.  
    â??Twas Eight-Hour Day, and proudly
    Old Labour led the way; The drums were bearing loudly,
  • 284.  
    They were hanging men in Buckland who would not cheer King George â??
    The parson from his pulpit and the blacksmith from his forge; They were hanging men and brothers, and the stoutest heart was down,
  • 285.  
    So the days of my tramping are over,
    And the days of my riding are doneâ?? Iâ??m about as content as a rover
  • 286.  
    A BLANKET low and leaden,
    Though rent across the west, Whose darkness seems to deaden
  • 287.  
    We come with peace and reason,
    We come with love and light, To banish black self-treason
  • 288.  
    Jack Denver died on Talbragar when Christmas Eve began,
    And there was sorrow round the place, for Denver was a man; Jack Denverâ??s wife bowed down her headâ??her daughterâ??s grief was wild,
  • 289.  
    It is stuffy in the steerage where the second-classers sleep,
    For there's near a hundred for'ard, and they're stowed away like sheep, -- They are trav'lers for the most part in a straight 'n' honest path;
  • 290.  
    Oh, Great White Czar of Russia, who hid your face and ran,
    Youâ??ve flung afar the grandest chance that ever came to man! You might have been, and could have beenâ??ah, think it to your shame!â??
  • 291.  
    Jim Duff was a â??native,â??as wild as could be;
    A stealer and duffer of cattle was he, But back in his youth he had stolen a pearlâ??
  • 292.  
    IT IS New Yearâ??s Day and I rise to state that here on the Sydney side
    The Bards have commenced to fill out of late and theyâ??re showing their binjies with pride Theyâ??re patting their binjies with pride, old man, and I want you to understand,
  • 293.  
    I would never waste the hours
    Of the time that is mine own, Writing verses about flowers
  • 294.  
    On my blankets I was lyinâ??
    Too tired to lift my head, Anâ?? the long hot day was dyinâ??
  • 295.  
    Now up and down the siding brown
    The great black crows are flyin', And down below the spur, I know,
  • 296.  
    The creek went down with a broken song,
    'Neath the sheoaks high; The waters carried the song along,
  • 297.  
    Wide solemn eyes that question me,
    Wee hand that pats my headâ?? Where only two have stroked before,
  • 298.  
    I met Jack Ellis in town to-day --
    Jack Ellis -- my old mate, Jack -- Ten years ago, from the Castlereagh,
  • 299.  
    By hut, homestead and shearing shed,
    By railroad, coach and track- By lonely graves where rest the dead,
  • 300.  
    BY blacksoil plains burned grey with drought
    Where desert shrubs and grasses grow, Along the Land of Furthest Out
Total 572 poems written by Henry Lawson

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
Expectans Expectavi
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

From morn to midnight, all day through,
I laugh and play as others do,
I sin and chatter, just the same
As others with a different name.

And all year long upon the stage
I dance and tumble and do rage
So vehemently, I scarcely see

Read complete poem

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