Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

[C. J. Dennis] (7 September 1876 - 22 June 1938 / Auburn, South Australia)

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

121. The Lure Of Trees 8/28/2012
122. The Lure Of Spring 8/29/2012
123. The Lovers 9/6/2012
124. The Looking Glass 1/1/2004
125. The Long Road Home 1/1/2004
126. 'The Lone Wolf Of Canberra' 8/31/2012
127. The Logic Of Anti-Sosh 9/5/2012
128. The Little Red Dog 9/1/2012
129. The Little People 8/29/2012
130. The Little Homes 9/3/2012
131. The Little Black Cormorant 8/30/2012
132. The Listening Week 8/30/2012
133. The Listener 8/28/2012
134. The Lips Of Ages 8/31/2012
135. The Lingothatweuze 9/5/2012
136. The Liberal Constitution 9/4/2012
137. The Lean, Brown Man 8/31/2012
138. The League Of Youth 8/30/2012
139. The Leader That Was Pushed 9/4/2012
140. The Last Sundowner 8/30/2012
141. The Land Down-Under 8/29/2012
142. The Lack 8/31/2012
143. The Knight's Return 9/3/2012
144. The Kindly Copper 8/30/2012
145. The Kid Around The Corner 8/31/2012
146. The Kid 9/4/2012
147. The Kid 9/5/2012
148. The Kick 8/30/2012
149. The Joy Ride 9/4/2012
150. The Invalid 9/4/2012
151. The Intro 3/21/2012
152. The Intro 9/4/2012
153. The Interloper 9/5/2012
154. The Insect 9/5/2012
155. The Indian Myna 8/30/2012
156. The Incubus 8/31/2012
157. The Incorrigible 8/30/2012
158. The Impervious Iceberg 9/4/2012
159. The Idolators 9/5/2012
160. The Idle Son 8/28/2012
Best Poem of Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Hist!

Hist! . . . . . . Hark!
The night is very dark,
And we've to go a mile or so
Across the Possum Park.

Step . . . . . . light,
Keeping to the right;
If we delay, and lose our way,
We'll be out half the night.
The clouds are low and gloomy. Oh!
It's just begun to mist!
We haven't any overcoats
And - Hist! . . . . . . Hist!

(Mo . . . . . . poke!)
Who was that that spoke?
This is not a fitting spot
To make a silly joke.

Dear . . . . . . me!
A mopoke in a tree!
It jarred me so, I didn't know
Whatever it could be.
But come along;...

Read the full of Hist!

Old Farmer Jack

Old farmer Jack gazed on his wheat,
And feared the frost would nip it.
Said he, "it's nearly seven feet -
I must begin to strip 'it.

He stripped it with a stripper and
He bagged it with a bagger;
The bags were all so lumpy that
They made the bumper stagger.

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