The Last Review (Henry Lawson Poems)
Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,For the Bush is slipping from me, ...
Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,For the Bush is slipping from me, ...
The rising moon on the peaks was blending Her silver light with the sunset glow,When a swagman came as the day was ...
This is not sorrow, this is work:I build a cairn of words over a silent man,My friend John Learmonth whom ...
HAST ever tramped along the road That has no end?The far brown winding road,-your one Fast friendA tattered weather-beaten swag, A silent mate To ...
I was drifting in the drizzle past the Cecil in the Strand-Which, I'm told, is very tony-and its front looks ...
FROM north to south throughout the year The shearing seasons run,The Queensland stations start to shear When Maoriland has done;But labour's cheap ...
But what's the use of writing 'bush'- Though editors demand it-For city folk, and farming folk, Can never understand it.They're blind to ...
We've drunk our wine, we've kissed our girls, and funds are sinking low,The horses must be thinking it's a fair ...
OLD coach-road West by Nor'-ward- Old mile-tree by the track:A dead branch pointing forward, And a dead branch pointing back.And still in ...
Oh, the track through the scrub groweth ever more dreary, And lower and lower his grey head doth bow;For the swagman ...
"Are you the Cove?" he spoke the wordsAs swagmen only can;The Squatter freezingly inquired,"What do you mean, my man?""Are you ...
Kind friends, pray give attention To this, my little song.Some rum things I will mention, And ...
Not for any airs and gracesWhen, to lonely, silent places Men return in memory, Come these kindly thoughts of me.But ...
They mustered us up with a royal din,In wearisome weeks of drought.Ere ever half of the crops were in,Or the ...
Out West, where the stars are brightest, Where the scorching north wind blows, And the bones of the dead gleam ...
The rafters are open to sun, moon, and star, Thistles and nettles grow high in the bar -- The chimneys ...
Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead, And the possums may gambol in trees overhead; I ...
The roving breezes come and go On Kiley's Run, The sleepy river murmurs low, And far away one dimly sees ...
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave At the foot of the Eaglehawk; We fashioned a cross on the ...
Oh! there once was a swagman camped in the Billabong, Under the shade of a Coolabah tree; And he sang ...
This was the way of it, don't you know -- Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, ...
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