Scots of the Riverina
The boy cleared out to the city from his home at harvest time --
They were Scots of the Riverina, and to run from home was a crime.
The old man burned his letters, the first and last he burned,
And he scratched his name from the Bible when the old wife's back was turned.
A year went past and another. There were calls from the firing-line;
They heard the boy had enlisted, but the old man made no sign.
His name must never be mentioned on the farm by Gundagai --
They were Scots of the Riverina with ever the kirk hard by.
The boy came home on his "final", and the township's bonfire burned.
His mother's arms were about him; but the old man's back was turned.
The daughters begged for pardon till the old man raised his hand --
A Scot of the Riverina who was hard to understand.
The boy was killed in Flanders, where the best and bravest die.
There were tears at the Grahame homestead and grief in Gundagai;
But the old man ploughed at daybreak and the old man ploughed till the mirk --
There were furrows of pain in the orchard while his housefolk went to the kirk.
The hurricane lamp in the rafters dimly and dimly burned;
And the old man died at the table when the old wife's back was turned.
Face down on his bare arms folded he sank with his wild grey hair
Outspread o'er the open Bible and a name re-written there.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Summers Gone
Crack and break, lifes big mistake,
Im feeling it too, theres no way home.
The summers gone,
The summers gone away.
Back down to earth, a conscience burst,
Im feeling it too, just slipped away.
The summers gone,
The love has gone,
The sun has gone away,
Away
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey...
Just like yesterday,
Its turned to black and white.
Cold as stone, no contact known
Youre feeling it too, as thoughts decay.
The summers gone, the colours gone,
The sun has gone away
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey,
Just like yesterday,
Its turned to black and white.
Oh, youre thinking back, youre going back to places that youve been,
Where days could last forever, but you can only dream,
Oh, were going back Im looking back to places that weve seen,
Moments that have been, places we can dream.
Crash and break, lifes big mistake,
Youre feeling it too, just slipped away.
The love has gone,
The summers gone away.
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey,
Just like yesterday, yesterday
Its turned to grey, just burned away,
A moment too soon, weve turned to grey,
Just like yesterday, yesterday...
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Passing of Gundagai
"I'll introduce a friend!" he said,
"And if you've got a vacant pen
You'd better take him in the shed
And start him shearing straight ahead;
He's one of these here quiet men.
"He never strikes -- that ain't his game;
No matter what the others try
He goes on shearing just the same.
I never rightly knew his name --
We always call him 'Gundagai!'"
Our flashest shearer then had gone
To train a racehorse for a race;
And, while his sporting fit was on
He couldn't be relied upon,
So Gundagai shore in his place.
Alas for man's veracity!
For reputations false and true!
This Gundagai turned out to be
For strife and all-round villainy
The very worst I ever knew!
He started racing Jack Devine,
And grumbled when I made him stop.
The pace he showed was extra fine,
But all those pure-bred ewes of mine
Were bleeding like a butcher's shop.
He cursed the sheep, he cursed the shed,
From roof to rafter, floor to shelf:
As for my mongrel ewes, he said,
I ought to get a razor-blade
And shave the blooming things myself.
On Sundays he controlled a "school",
And played "two-up" the livelong day;
And many a young confiding fool
He shore of his financial wool;
And when he lost he would not pay.
He organised a shearers' race,
And "touched" me to provide the prize.
His pack-horse showed surprising pace
And won hands down -- he was The Ace,
A well-known racehorse in disguise.
Next day the bruiser of the shed
Displayed an opal-tinted eye,
With large contusions on his head,
He smiled a sickly smile, and said
He's "had a cut at Gundagai!"
But, just as we were getting full
Of Gundagai and all his ways,
A telgram for "Henry Bull"
Arrived. Said he, "That's me -- all wool!
Let's see what this here message says."
He opened it; his face grew white,
He dropped the shears and turned away
It ran, "Your wife took bad last night;
Come home at once -- no time to write,
We fear she may not last the day."
He got his cheque -- I didn't care
To dock him for my mangled ewes;
His store account, we called it square,
Poor wretch! he had enough to bear,
Confronted by such dreadful news.
The shearers raised a little purse
To help a mate, as shearers will.
"To pay the doctor and the nurse.
And, if there should be something worse,
To pay the undertaker's bill."
They wrung his hand in sympathy,
He rode away without a word,
His head hung down in misery . . .
A wandering hawker passing by
Was told of what had just occurred.
"Well! that's a curious thing," he siad,
"I've known that feller all his life --
He's had the loan of this here shed!
I know his wife ain't nearly dead,
Because he hasn't got a wife!"
You should have heard the whipcord crack
As angry shearers galloped by;
In vain they tried to fetch him back --
A little dust along the track
Was all they saw of "Gundagai".
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Road to Gundagai
The mountain road goes up and down
From Gundagai to Tumut Town
And, branching off, there runs a track
Across the foothills grim and black,
Across the plains and ranges grey
To Sydney city far away.
It came by chance one day that I
From Tumut rode to Gundagai,
And reached about the evening tide
The crossing where the roads divide;
And, waiting at the crossing place,
I saw a maiden fair of face,
With eyes of deepest violet blue,
And cheeks to match the rose in hue --
The fairest maids Australia knows
Are bred among the mountain snows.
Then, fearing I might go astray,
I asked if she could show the way.
Her voice might well a man bewitch --
Its tones so supple, deep, and rich.
"The tracks are clear," she made reply,
"And this goes down to Sydney Town,
And that one goes to Gundagai."
Then slowly, looking coyly back,
She went along the Sydney track
And I for one was well content
To go the road the lady went;
But round the turn a swain she met --
The kiss she gave him haunts me yet!
I turned and travelled with a sigh
The lonely road to Gundagai.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Say It Ain't So Joe
(Head)
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
That's not what I wanna hear Jo
And I got a right to know
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
I'm sure they're telling us lies Jo
Please tell us it ain't so
They told us that our hero has played his trump card
He doesn't know how to go on
We're clinging to his charm and determined smile
The good old days have gone
The image and the empire may be falling apart
The money has gotten scarce
One man's word held the country together
But the truth is getting fierce
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
We pinned our hopes on you Jo
And they're ruining our show
Ooh baby don't you think
We're gonna get burned
Ooh baby don't you think
We're gonna get burned
We're gonna get turned
We're gonna get burned
Yes we're gonna get turned
We're gonna get burned
We're gonna get turned
Yes, we're gonna get burned
We're gonna get burned
We're gonna get burned
Yes we're gonna get turned
We're gonna get burned
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
That's not what I wanna hear Jo
And I got a right to know
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
I'm sure they're telling us lies Jo
Please tell us it ain't so
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
That's not what I wanna hear Jo
And I got a right to know
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
I'm sure they're telling us lies Jo
Please tell us it ain't so
Say it ain't so
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Scots [A Dirge]
Black Scots and red Scots,
Red Scots and black;
I hae dealt wi’ the red Scot,
An’ dealt wi’ the black.
The Red Scot is angry
Among the sons o’ men—
He’ll pay you a bawbee,
An’ steal it back again.
Black Scots and red Scots,
Red Scots and black;
I hae dealt wi’ the red Scot,
An’ dealt wi’ the black.
The Black Scot is frien’ly—
A brither an’ a’—
He’ll pay you a bawbee,
An’ steal back twa.
The Ginger Scot o’ a’ Scots,
The warst shade o’ Scot,
For he’ll pay ye naething,
An’ tak’ a’ you’ve got.
Black Scots and red Scots,
Short Scots an’ lang,
Ginger Scots an’ bald Scots—
I dealt wi’ the gang.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Any Other Day
You want something corny?
You got it
Theres a house on my street
And it looks real neat
Im the chap who lives in it
Theres a tree on the sidewalk
Theres a car by the door
Ill go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
Hell look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I dont know whats wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
Im covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mountain Squatter
Here in my mountain home,
On rugged hills and steep,
I sit and watch you come,
O Riverinia Sheep!
You come from the fertile plains
Where saltbush (sometimes) grows,
And flats that (when it rains)
Will blossom like the rose.
But when the summer sun
Gleams down like burnished brass,
You have to leave your run
And hustle off for grass.
'Tis then that -- forced to roam --
You come to where I keep,
Here in my mountain home,
A boarding-house for sheep.
Around me where I sit
The wary wombat goes --
A beast of little wit,
But what he knows, he knows.
The very same remark
Applies to me also;
I don't give out a spark,
But what I know, I know.
My brain perhaps would show
No convolutions deep,
But anyhow I know
The way to handle sheep.
These Riverina cracks,
They do not care to ride
The half-inch hanging tracks
Along the mountain side.
Their horses shake with fear
When loosened boulders go
With leaps, like startled deer,
Down to the gulfs below.
Their very dogs will shirk,
And drop their tails in fright
When asked to go and work
A mob that's out of sight.
My little collie pup
Works silently and wide;
You'll see her climbing up
Along the mountain side.
As silent as a fox
You'll see her come and go,
A shadow through the rocks
Where ash and messmate grow.
Then, lost to sight and sound
Behind some rugged steep,
She works her way around
And gathers up the sheep;
And, working wide and shy,
She holds them rounded up.
The cash ain't coined to buy
That little collie pup.
And so I draw a screw
For self and dog and keep
To boundary-ride for you,
O Riverina Sheep!
And, when the autumn rain
Has made the herbage grow,
You travel off again,
And glad -- no doubt -- to go.
But some are left behind
Around the mountain's spread,
For those we cannot find
We put them down as dead.
So, when we say adieu
And close the boarding job,
I always find a few
Fresh ear-marks in my mob.
And, what with those I sell,
And what with those I keep,
You pay me pretty well,
O Riverina Sheep!
It's up to me to shout
Before we say good-bye --
"Here's to a howlin' drought
All west of Gundagai!"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Right Back Here In My Arms
{cuz thats my only mission sample repeats in song}
Oh baby
(right back here in my arms) {x2}
Right back here, yeah
Dont want u 2 write me no letters
Dont want u callin my farm
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
Alright
I aint checkin 4 the sweet talk, baby (right)
Talkin bout how ure missin my charms (right)
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms (thats my only mission)
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
(right back here in my arms)
Oh baby
(right back here in my arms)
Oh baby
I know u got a lot on your mind (right)
Thats why I wanna give u some time (right)
Till I get 2, till I get 2
Till I get 2 hug that body so fine
I know u need a little space, just a little
Thats why I aint showin my face (right)
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
Oh baby
(right back here in my arms)
(right, right)
Right back in my arms (right back here in my arms)
Right back, right back
Right back here in my arms
(right) (right back here in my arms)
No, no, no 2 the postman bringin me letters
U know a brotha gonna feel much better
If he keep his mind on, u know, whatever
Anything as long as it is makin it wetter
Cuz I cant stop thinkin about what we do
There ought 2 be a law against the hoochie ooh! (ooh!)
Can we groove? I dont wanna do u no harm
I just want u right back here in my arms
Oh baby (right back here in my arms)
Dont want u 2 write me no letters
I just want u, I just want u
I just want u right back here in my arms
Ooh yeah, right back here in my arms
(right back here in my arms)
I just want u right back here in my arms (right)
Right back here in my arms
(right back here in my arms) (right)
Right back, right back (right)
Ill try 2 write u back
(right back here in my arms)
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Say It Aint So Jo
(head)
Say it aint so jo, please, say it aint so
Thats not what I wanna hear jo
And I got a right to know
Say it aint so jo, please, say it aint so
Im sure theyre telling us lies jo
Please tell us it aint so
They told us that our hero has played his trump card
He doesnt know how to go on
Were clinging to his charm and determined smile
The good old days have gone
The image and the empire may be falling apart
The money has gotten scarce
One mans word held the country together
But the truth is getting fierce
Say it aint so jo, please, say it aint so
We pinned our hopes on you jo
And theyre ruining our show
Ooh baby dont you think
Were gonna get burned
Ooh baby dont you think
Were gonna get burned
Were gonna get turned
Were gonna get burned
Yes were gonna get turned
Were gonna get burned
Were gonna get turned
Yes, were gonna get burned
Were gonna get burned
Were gonna get burned
Yes were gonna get turned
Were gonna get burned
Say it aint so jo, please, say it aint so
Thats not what I wanna hear jo
And I got a right to know
Say it aint so jo, please, say it aint so
Im sure theyre telling us lies jo
Please tell us it aint so
Say it aint so jo, please, say it aint so
Thats not what I wanna hear jo
And I got a right to know
Say it aint so jo, please, say it aint so
Im sure theyre telling us lies jo
Please tell us it aint so
Say it aint so
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can a man take fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned Can one go upon hot coals, and his feet not be burned So he that goeth in to his neighbor's wife whosoever toucheth her shall not be innocent.
A Dream
I dreamed that I ws dead and crossed the heavens,--
Heavens after heavens with burning feet and swift,--
And cried: "O God, where art Thou?" I left one
On earth, whose burden I would pray Thee lift."
I was so dead I wondered at no thing,--
Not even that the angels slowly turned
Their faces, speechless, as I hurried by
(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned);
Nor, at the first, that I could not find God,
Because the heavens stretched endlessly like space.
At last a terror siezed my very soul;
I seemed alone in all the crowded place.
Then, sudden, one compassionate cried out,
Though like the rest his face from me he turned,
As I were one no angel might regard
(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned):
"No moew in heaven than earth will he find God
Who does not know his loving mercy swift
But waits the moment consummate and ripe,
Each burden, from each human soul to lift."
Though I was dead, I died again for shame;
Lonely, to flee from heaven again I turned;
The ranks of angels looked away from me
(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned).
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Letter From The Wastland
Now coming down
From out of this swan dive
To your arms
I make no sounds
When I move through your reservoir
But I wake up quick
And I wake up sick
As you abandon me
Into these fields of rank and file
Through this crowd
I hear you breathing
And through these bars
I watch them bring more in
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now boy keep still
Don't spread yourself around
Get back in line
Eat your bread and just work the plow
'Cause you're not through
They're not done with you
Did you think you were
The only one that's been let down
So sleep tight
Little boys of the new damned
Another drop in the
Tidal wave of quicksand
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now another bad idea gets through
Down this assembly line to you
You're every bridge I should have burned
Every lesson I've unlearned
In this smoke-filled waiting room
With incarcerated love sick fools
I will wait for you to cut me loose
Till then I...
Send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
Now I send back letters
From the Wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter From The Wastland
Now coming down
From out of this swan dive
To your arms
I make no sounds
When I move through your reservoir
But I wake up quick
And I wake up sick
As you abandon me
Into these fields of rank and file
Through this crowd
I hear you breathing
And through these bars
I watch them bring more in
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now boy keep still
Don't spread yourself around
Get back in line
Eat your bread and just work the plow
'Cause you're not through
They're not done with you
Did you think you were
The only one that's been let down
So sleep tight
Little boys of the new damned
Another drop in the
Tidal wave of quicksand
Now I send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
It may take two to tango
But boy, just one to let go
It's just one to let go
Now another bad idea gets through
Down this assembly line to you
You're every bridge I should have burned
Every lesson I've unlearned
In this smoke-filled waiting room
With incarcerated love sick fools
I will wait for you to cut me loose
Till then I...
Send back letters
From the wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
Now I send back letters
From the Wasteland home
Where I slow dance
To this romance on my own
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Night
It snowed and snowed ,the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
As during summer midges swarm
To beat their wings against a flame
Out in the yard the snowflakes swarmed
To beat against the window pane
The blizzard sculptured on the glass
Designs of arrows and of whorls.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
Distorted shadows fell
Upon the lighted ceiling:
Shadows of crossed arms,of crossed legs-
Of crossed destiny.
Two tiny shoes fell to the floor
And thudded.
A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears
Upon a dress.
All things vanished within
The snowy murk-white,hoary.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
A corner draft fluttered the flame
And the white fever of temptation
Upswept its angel wings that cast
A cruciform shadow
It snowed hard throughout the month
Of February, and almost constantly
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.
poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On the road to Gundagai
Oh, we started down from Roto when the sheds had all cut out.
We'd whips and whips of Rhino as we meant to push about,
So we humped our blues serenely and made for Sydney town,
With a three-spot cheque between us, as wanted knocking down.
Chorus
But we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
The road to Gundagai! Not five miles from Gundagai!
Yes, we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Well, we struck the Murrumbidgee near the Yanko in a week,
And passed through old Narrandera and crossed the Burnet Creek.
And we never stopped at Wagga, for we'd Sydney in our eye.
But we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Oh, I've seen a lot of girls, my boys, and drunk a lot of beer,
And I've met with some of both, chaps, as has left me mighty queer;
But for beer to knock you sideways, and for girls to make you sigh,
You must camp at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Well, we chucked our blooming swags off, and we walked into the bar,
And we called for rum-an'-raspb'ry and a shilling each cigar.
But the girl that served the pizen, she winked at Bill and I —
And we camped at Lazy Harry's, not five miles from Gundagai.
In a week the spree was over and the cheque was all knocked down,
So we shouldered our "Matildas," and we turned our backs on town,
And the girls they stood a nobbler as we sadly said "Good bye,"
And we tramped from Lazy Harry's, not five miles from Gundagai.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Road To Gundagai
Oh, we started down from Roto when the sheds had all cut out.
We'd whips and whips of Rhino as we meant to push about,
So we humped our blues serenely and made for Sydney town,
With a three-spot cheque between us, as wanted knocking down.
But we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai
The road to Gundagai! Not five miles from Gundagai!
Yes, we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Well, we struck the Murrumbidgee near the Yanko in a week,
And passed through old Narrandera and crossed the Burnet Creek.
And we never stopped at Wagga, for we'd Sydney in our eye.
But we camped at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Oh, I've seen a lot of girls, my boys, and drunk a lot of beer,
And I've met with some of both, chaps, as has left me mighty queer;
But for beer to knock you sideways, and for girls to make you sigh,
You must camp at Lazy Harry's, on the road to Gundagai.
Well, we chucked our blooming swags off, and we walked into the bar,
And we called for rum-an'-raspb'ry and a shilling each cigar.
But the girl that served the pizen, she winked at Bill and I
And we camped at Lazy Harry's, not five miles from Gundagai.
In a week the spree was over and the cheque was all knocked down,
So we shouldered our "Matildas," and we turned our backs on town,
And the girls they stood a nobbler as we sadly said "Good bye,"
And we tramped from Lazy Harry's, not five miles from Gundagai;
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Babybird
Come back babybird
With your dirty wings in tatters
Come home where you belong
Nobody knows you better
Now bring back your velvet heart
And well make you brand new feathers
Sleep through the morning light
With your arms around your brother
Babybird
Come back home
Babybird
You were never really on your own
Now outside faces cry
With the tears of lonesome orphans
And behind every mask
Is the face of another
Wherever you have been
Wherever you took cover
No arms that pulled you in
Could hold you like your mother
Babybird
Come back home
Babybird
You were never really on your own
When all my colors fade
And my wings, theyve turned to leather
Ill know the reasons why
God let me get older
When all my days are through
And I fly these hills no longer
Ill lay beneath the stars
And Ill watch you flying over
Babybird
Come back home
Babybird
You were never really on your own
Babybird
Come back home
Babybird
You will never be all alone
song performed by by Wallflowers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morgan
When Morgan crossed the Murray to Peechelba and doom
A sombre silent shadow rode with him through the gloom.
The wild things of the forest slunk from the outlaw's track,
The boobook croaked a warning, "Go back, go back, go back!"
It woke no answering echo in Morgan's blackened soul,
As onward through the darkness he rode towards his goal.
An evil man was Morgan, a price was on his head;
The simple bush-folk whispered his very name with dread;
Before the fierce Dan Morgan the bravest man might quake-
A cold and callous killer, he killed for killing's sake. .
Past swamp and creek and gully, and settler's lone abode,
Towards the station homestead the grim Dan Morgan rode.
And still that hooded horseman that Morgan could not see,
Watched by the wild bush-creatures, rode close beside his knee.
Before them in a clearing a drover's campfire burned:
The phantom rode with Morgan, and turned when Morgan turned.
And loud the boobook's warning came on the cold night air,
"Go back, go back, Dan Morgan. Beware, beware, beware!"
He reached the station homestead, into the hall he strode,
And on his evil features, the flickering lamplight glowed.
"Into one room!" he thundered. Bring me a glass of grog!
If any disobey me I'll shoot him like a dog!"
With pistols cocked and ready, dark-eyed and beetle-browed-
Before the famous outlaw the bravest hearts were cowed.
All night with loaded pistols he dozed and muttered there,
All night the evil shadow stood close behind his chair.
The brave Scotch girl McDonald, a lass who knew no fear,
Slipped out unseen by Morgan to warn the homesteads near.
And in the hours of darkness, before the break of dawn,
Around the fierce Dan Morgan the fatal net was drawn.
Day broke upon the Murray, the morning mists were gone,
The magpies sang their matins, the river murmured on.
When Morgan left the homestead and neared the stockyard gate
He heard the boobooks warning, and turned but turned to late -
For Quinlan pressed the trigger as Morgan swung around,
And sent the grim bushranger blaspheming to the ground.
So fell the dread Dan Morgan in Eighteen sixty-five,
In death as much unpitied as hated when alive.
He lived by blood and plunder, an outlaw to the end;
In life he showed no mercy, in death he left no friend.
And all who seek to follow in Morgan's evil track
Should heed the boobook's warning: "Go back, go back, go back!"
poem by Edward Harrington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sorceress!
I asked her, "Is Aladdin's lamp
Hidden anywhere?"
"Look into your heart," she said,
"Aladdin's lamp is there."
She took my heart with glowing hands.
It burned to dust and air
And smoke and rolling thistledown
Blowing everywhere.
"Follow the thistledown," she said,
"Till doomsday, if you dare,
Over the hills and far away.
Aladdin's lamp is there."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Yukoner
He burned a hole in frozen muck,
He pierced the icy mould,
And there in six-foot dirt he struck
A sack or so of gold.
He burned holes in the Decalogue,
And then it cam about,
For Fortune's just a lousy rogue,
His "pocket" petered out.
And lo! 'twas but a year all told,
When there in a shadow grim,
In six feet deep of icy mould
They burned a hole for him.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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