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'Tis a legend of the bushmen from the days of Cunningham, When he opened up the country and the early squatters came. Tis the old tale of a fortune missed by me...
It watched me in the cradle laid, and from my boyhood’s home It glared above my shoulder-blade when I wrote my first “pome”; It’s sidled by me ever sinc...
We knew too little of the world, And you and I were good— ’Twas paltry things that wrecked our lives As well I knew they would. The people said our love was...
Oh, I never felt so wretched, and things never looked so blue Since the days I gulped the physic that my Granny used to brew; For a friend in whom I trusted, ...
A cloud of dust on the long white road, And the teams go creeping on Inch by inch with the weary load; And by the power of the green-hide goad The distant...
