Poems begining by T
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The Silent Shearer
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Weary and listless, sad and slow,
Without any conversation,
Was a man that worked on The Overflow,
The butt of the shed and the station.
The Hypnotist
© Andrew Barton Paterson
With dragging footsteps and downcast head
The hypnotiser went home to bed,
And since that very successful test
He has given the magic art a rest;
Had he tried the ladies, and worked it right,
What curious tales might have come to light!
That Half-Crown Sweep
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The run of Billabong-go-dry
Is just beyond Lime Burner's Gap;
Its waterhole and tank supply
Is excellent -- upon the map.
The Winds Message
© Andrew Barton Paterson
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Above the tossing of the pines, above the river's flow;
It stirred the boughs of giant gums and stalwart iron-bark;
It drifted where the wild ducks played amid the swamps below;
The Passing of Gundagai
© Andrew Barton Paterson
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.
The Reveille
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Trumpets of the Lancer Corps
Sound a loud reveille;
Sound it over Sydney shore,
Send the message far and wide
The Swagman's Rest
© Andrew Barton Paterson
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
At the foot of the Eaglehawk;
We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave
For fear that his ghost might walk;
The Road to Hogan's Gap
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Well, run that right-hand ridge along
It aint, to say, too steep
Theres two fresh tracks might put you wrong
Where blokes went out with sheep.
The Story of Mongrel Grey
© Andrew Barton Paterson
We might have sold him, but someone heard
He was bred out back on a flooded run,
Where he learnt to swim like a waterbird;
Midnight or midday were all as one --
In the flooded ground he would find his way;
Nothing could puzzle old Mongrel Grey.
The Rule of the A.J.C.
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Come all ye bold trainers attend to my song,
It's a rule of the A.J.C.
You mustn't train ponies, for that's very wrong
By the rules of the A.J.C.
The Matrimonial Stakes
© Andrew Barton Paterson
When I won the Flappers' Flatrace it was "all Sir Garneo",
For she praised the way I made my final run.
And she thought the riding won it -- for how could the poor girl know
That a monkey could have ridden it and won!
The Corner Man
© Andrew Barton Paterson
A small boy sat on the foremost seat --
A mirthful youngster he,
He beat the time with his restless feet
To each new melody,
And he picked me out as the brightest star
Of the black fraternity.
The Scottish Engineer
© Andrew Barton Paterson
With eyes that searched in the dark,
Peering along the line,
Stood the grim Scotsman, Hector Clark,
Driver of "Forty-nine".
And the veldt-fire flamed on the hills ahead,
Like a blood-red beacon sign.
The Scorcher and the Howling Swell
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The Scorcher and the Howling Swell were riding through the land;
They wept like anything to see the hills on every hand;
"If these were only levelled down," they said, "it would be grand."
The Ballad of G. R. Dibbs
© Andrew Barton Paterson
This is the story of G.R.D.,
Who went on a mission across the sea
To borrow some money for you and me.
The Dam that Keele Built
© Andrew Barton Paterson
This is the dam that Keele built.
This is the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;
This is the Water and Sewer Brigade,
That measured the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;
T.y.s.o.n.
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Across the Queensland border line
The mobs of cattle go;
They travel down in sun and shine
On dusty stage, and slow.
Typographical
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The Editor wrote his political screed
In ink that was fainter and fainter;
He rose to the call of his country's need,
And in spiderish characters wrote with speed,
The Old Tin Hat
© Andrew Barton Paterson
And a very great man is the man who holds an Army Corps command,
For he hurries his regiments here and there as the C. in C. has planned.
By day he travels about in state and stirreth them up to rights,
He toileth early and toileth late, and sitteth up half the nights;
But the evening comes when the candle throws twin shadows upon the mat,
And one of the shadows is like a wreath, and one like an Old Tin Hat.
The Last Trump
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"If you had drawn their leading spade
It meant a certain win!
But no! By Pembroke's mighty shade
The thirteenth trump you went and played
And let their diamonds in!
