Category: Poetry
Wake up, boy! the grass is burning; See the glare across the hill! Flames are nearing the “Flat Paddock,” And the sheep are in there still. Dark you say! Yes, so I think it, Tho’ I see the field of corn; But the lights which flicker thro’ it Are not those we see at dawn. Mount...
The wattle’s scent mingles with that of the briar, Where tower the white gum trees in noble attire: In days when we hunted the emu abreast, ’Twas under their shade we would lie...
1. Part 1Wake up, boy! the grass is burning; See the glare across the hill! Flames are nearing the “Flat Paddock,” And the sheep are in there still. Dark you say! Yes, so I think it, Tho...