For restless Proserpine for ever treads
In paths unseen, o'er our devoted heads,
And on the spacious land and liquid main
Spreads slow disease, or darts afflictive pain:
Variety of deaths confirms her endless reign.

Thieves' Kitchen

© Kenneth Slessor

GOOD roaring pistol-boys, brave lads of gold,
Good roistering easy maids, blown cock-a-hoop
On floods of tavern-steam, I greet you! Drunk
With wild Canary, drowned in wines of old,

Glenfinlas; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach

© Sir Walter Scott

"O hone a rie'! O hone a rie!"
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!" -

Kitchen Poem

© Francis Scarfe

In the hungry kitchen
The dog sings for its dinner.
The housewife is writing her poem
On top of the frigidaire
Something like this:

The Pine-Apple And The Bee

The pine-apples, in triple row,

Were basking hot, and all in blow;

The Rival Curates

List while the poet trolls
Of MR. CLAYTON HOOPER,
Who had a cure of souls
At Spiffton-extra-Sooper.

The Loving Shepherdess

She dreamed that a two-legged whiff of flame
Rose up from the house gable-peak crying, "Oh! Oh!"
And doubled in the middle and fled away on the wind
Like music above the bee-hives.