The Great Grey Plain (Henry Lawson Poem)
Out West, where the stars are brightest, Where the scorching north wind blows, And the bones of the dead gleam ...
Out West, where the stars are brightest, Where the scorching north wind blows, And the bones of the dead gleam ...
When I was up the country in the rough and early days, I used to work along ov Jimmy Nowlett's ...
When the caravans of wool-teams climbed the ranges from the West, On a spur among the mountains stood `The Bullock-drivers' ...
His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth, His hat pushed from his brow, His dress best fitted for the ...
I met Jack Ellis in town to-day -- Jack Ellis -- my old mate, Jack -- Ten years ago, from ...
It was pleasant up the country, City Bushman, where you went, For you sought the greener patches and you travelled ...
So the time seems come at last, And the drums go rolling past, And above them in the sunlight Labour's ...
Jack Denver died on Talbragar when Christmas Eve began, And there was sorrow round the place, for Denver was a ...
They stood by the door of the Inn on the Rise; May Carney looked up in the bushranger's eyes: `Oh! ...
Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn, And one of them called for the drinks with a grin; ...
When the man I was denounces all the things that I was not, When the true souls stand like granite, ...
The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought, The cheque was spent that the ...
On Rabbi Kook's Street I walk without this good man-- A streiml he wore for prayer A silk top hat ...
I GIVE the undertakers permission to haul my body to the graveyard and to lay away all, the head, the ...
YES, the Dead speak to us. This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness. Back ...
It was while we held our races -- Hurdles, sprints and steplechases -- Up in Dandaloo, That a crowd of ...
This was the way of it, don't you know -- Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, ...
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross'd ...
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross'd ...
Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is the thing I find to be: That I am weary of ...
As to democracy, fellow citizens, Are you not prepared to admit That I, who inherited riches and was to the ...
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