Sydney-Side (Henry Lawson Poems)
Where's the steward?-Bar-room steward? Berth? Oh, any berth will do-I have left a three-pound billet just to come along with ...
Where's the steward?-Bar-room steward? Berth? Oh, any berth will do-I have left a three-pound billet just to come along with ...
The gay young men and the love-sick girls,and the abandoned widows suffering in sleepless delirium,and the young pregnant wives of ...
For many years I've watched the ships a-sailing to and fro,The mighty ships, the little ships, the speedy and the ...
A man went down to PanamaWhere many a man had diedTo slit the sliding mountainsAnd lift the eternal tide:A man ...
A Threnody for Robert Louis StevensonCOLD, the dull cold! What ails the sun,And takes the heart out of the day?What ...
They called 'em from the breakers' yards, the shores of Dead Men's Bay,From coaling wharves the wide world round, red-rusty ...
They called them from the breakers' yards, the shores of Dead Men's Bay,From coaling wharves the wide world round, red-rusty ...
WHERE are now the Captains Of the narrow ships of old Who with valiant souls went seeking For the Fabled ...
A handful of workers seeking the star of a strong intent — A handful of heroes scattered to conquer a ...
As I was walking beside the docks I met a pal o' mineI sailed with once on the Colonies' run ...
"We sweep a bit and we fight a bit—an' that's what we like the best— But a towin' job ...
To-morrow and to-morrow, (O the slashing of the foam along the furrow!)We'll loosen from the jetty when ...
O the calling of the waves on the pebbled beach below, And the seagull sweeping o'er the waters grey!O ...
Half across the world to westward there's a harbour that I know,Where the ships that load with lumber and the ...
"Let go aft" . . . and out she slides, Pitching when she meets the tides . . . She ...
Here the inscrutable purpose of my God Set me, to be to men a thing of hate,Watching the way where ...
With saucy air and curtly hail;With rakish stern and meager crew,They bristle up beneath the rail,And warp the giant liners ...
The men kept to themselves: they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: ...
I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare ...
...Preamble A rough draft for an ars poetica . . . . . . . Let's get our dreams unstuck ...
SMOKE of the fields in spring is one, Smoke of the leaves in autumn another. Smoke of a steel-mill roof ...
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