Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake

(26 March 1866 – May 1892 / Sydney / Australia)

Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake Poems

1. A Bushman's Love 1/1/2004
2. A Memory 1/1/2004
3. A Song 1/1/2004
4. A Song From A Sandhill 4/9/2010
5. A Valentine 4/9/2010
6. A Vision Out West 4/9/2010
7. A Wayside Queen 4/9/2010
8. An Allegory 1/1/2004
9. An Easter Rhyme 4/9/2010
10. At Devlin's Siding 1/1/2004
11. At The "J. C." 1/1/2004
12. Babs Malone 4/9/2010
13. Desiree 4/9/2010
14. Down The River 1/1/2004
15. Featherstonhaugh 1/1/2004
16. Fogarty's Gin 4/9/2010
17. From The Far West 4/9/2010
18. How Babs Malone Cut Down The Field 1/1/2004
19. How Polly Paid For Her Keep 1/1/2004
20. Jack Corrigan 1/1/2004
21. Jack's Last Muster 1/1/2004
22. Jimmy Wood 1/1/2004
23. Jim's Whip 1/1/2004
24. Josephus Riley 4/9/2010
25. Kelly's Conversion 4/9/2010
26. Kitty Mccrae - A Galloping Rhyme 1/1/2004
27. On The Boundary 1/1/2004
28. On The Range 1/1/2004
29. Our Visitor 1/1/2004
30. Skeeta ( An Old Servant's Tale ) 1/1/2004
31. The Babes In The Bush 4/9/2010
32. The Box-Tree's Love 4/9/2010
33. The Demon Snow-Shoes (A Legend Of Kiandra) 1/1/2004
34. The Digger's Song 1/1/2004
35. To A Hatpeg 4/9/2010
36. 'Twixt The Wings Of The Yard 1/1/2004
37. Where The Dead Men Lie 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake

A Song From A Sandhill

Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly—
The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky:
Each drooping frond of pine has got a jewel at its tip—
First a twinkle, then a sprinkle, and a drip, drip, drip.

Drip, drip, drip! They must be shearing up on high.
Can't you see the snowy fleeces that are rolling, rolling by?
How many bales, I wonder, are they branding to the clip?
P'r'aps the Boss is keeping tally with this drip, drip, drip.

Drip, drip, drip! while the sodden branches sigh:
The jovial jackass dare not laugh for fear that he should cry:
The...

Read the full of A Song From A Sandhill

On The Boundary

I Love the ancient boundary-fence,
That mouldering chock-and-log.
When I go ride the boundary
I let the old horse jog
And take his pleasure in and out
Where the sandalwood grows dense,
And tender pines clasp hands across
The log that tops the fence.
’Tis pleasant on the boundary-fence,

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