Henry Lawson Poems

The skies are brass and the plains are bare,
Death and ruin are everywhere --
And all that is left of the last year's flood
Is a sickly stream on the grey-black mud;
...

Though doctors may your name discard
And say you physicked vilely,
I would I were as good a bard
As you a doctor, Wylie!
...

These are songs of the Friends I neglected—
And the Foes, too, in part;
...

Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
...

Ben Boyd's Tower is watching—
Watching o’er the sea;
Ben Boyd’s Tower is waiting
For her and me.
...

SO YER trav’lin’ for yer pleasure while yer writin’ for the press?
An’ yer huntin’ arter “copy”?—well, I’ve heer’d o’ that. I guess
You are gorn te
...

Weary old wife, with the bucket and cow,
‘How’s your son Jack? and where is he now?’
Haggard old eyes that turn to the west—
...

IT’S OH! for a rivet in marriage bonds,
And a splice in the knot untied—
The sanctity of the marriage tie
Is growing more sanctified!
...

We have lived till these times, brother,
We who lived in this;
We have not grown old together,
Soon our lives must close –
...

There are writers great and writers small
And writers on the spree;
And writers short and writers tall,
And bards of low degree.
...