I 've journeyed 'roun' consid'able, a-seein' men an' things,
An' I 've learned a little of the sense that meetin' people brings;
But in spite of all my travelling an' of all I think I know,
I 've got one notion in my head, that I can't git to go;
An' it is that the folks I meet in any other spot
Ain't half so good as them I knowed back home in Possum Trot.

Music

© Kenneth Slessor

I
MUSIC, on the air's edge, rides alone,
Plumed like empastured Caesars of the sky
With a god's helmet; now, in the gold dye

The Rose-Bush

© Anonymous

There was a rose-bush in a garden growing,
Its tender leaves unfolding day by day;
The sun looked-on, and his down-going
Left it amid the starlit dusk of nights of May.

Indian Summer

© Hamlin Garland

At last there came

The sudden fall of frost, when Time

The Voice Of The Banjo

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

In a small and lonely cabin out of noisy traffic's way,
Sat an old man, bent and feeble, dusk of face, and hair of gray,
And beside him on the table, battered, old, and worn as he,
Lay a banjo, droning forth this reminiscent melody:

Miners

© Wilfred Owen

There was a whispering in my hearth,
A sigh of the coal.
Grown wistful of a former earth
It might recall.

The Curse of Mother Flood

Wizened the wood is, and wan is the way through it;

White as a corpse is the face of the fen;

On The Source of The Arve

Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse,

With its perpetual tidings upward climb,

The Idlers Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. February

UNDER THE SPEAKER'S GALLERY
In all the comedy of human things
What is more mirthful than for those, who sit
Far from the great world's vain imaginings,

The Song at Cock-Crow

The first time that Peter denied his Lord
He shrank from the cudgel, the scourge and the cord,
But followed far off to see what they would do,
Till the cock crew-till the cock crew-
After Gethsemane, till the cock crew!