An Allegory

The fight was over, and the battle won
A soldier, who beneath his chieftains eye
Had done a might deed and done it well,
And done it as the world will have it done,
A stab, a curse, some quick play of the butt,
Two skulls cracked crosswise, but the colours saved,
Proud of his wounds, proud of the promised cross,
Turned to his rear-rank man, who on his gun
Leant heavily apart. Ho, friend! he called,
You did not fight then: were you left behind?
I saw you not. The other turned and showed
A gapping, red-lipped wound upon his breast.
Ah, said he sadly, I was in the smoke!
Threw up his arms, shivered, and fell and died.

Barcroft Boake

Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake was an Australian poet, born in Sydney, New South Wales. He worked as a surveyor and drover in the Australian outback, which influenced his poetry. Boake was known for his bush ballads that depicted the harsh and rugged life in the Australian wilderness. Tragically, his life ended prematurely when he took his own life at the age of 26. Despite his short career, Boake left a lasting impact on Australian literature.

Barcroft Boake

Josephus Riley

Barcroft Boake, Simple Poetry

An Easter Rhyme

Barcroft Boake, Simple Poetry

Our Visitor

Barcroft Boake, Simple Poetry

How Polly Paid For Her Keep

Barcroft Boake, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Jacks Last Muster

Diamantina River, Western Queensland


The first flush of grey light, the herald of daylight,
Is dimly outlining the musterers camp,
Where over the sleeping, the stealthily creeping
Breath of the morning lies chilly and damp,

As, blankets forsaking, twixt sleeping and waking,
The black-boys turn out to the managers call;
Whose order, of course, is, Be after the horses,
And take all sorts of care you unhobble them all.

Then, each with a bridle (provokingly idle)
They saunter away his commands to fulfil,
Where, cheerily chiming, the musical rhyming
From equine bell-ringers comes over the hill.

But now the dull dawning gives place to the morning,
The sun, springing up in a glorious flood
Of golden-shot fire, mounts higher and hi...

Barcroft Boake

The Roll Of The Kettledrum; or, The Lay Of The Last Charger

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?
-    Byron.


One line of swart profiles and bearded lips dressing,
One ridge of bright helmets, one crest of fair plumes,
One streak of blue sword-blades all bared for the fleshing,
One row of red nostrils that scent battle-fumes.

Forward! the trumpets were sounding the charge,
The roll of the kettledrum rapidly ran,
That music, like wild-fire spreading at large,
Maddend the war-horse as well as the man.

Forward! still forward! we thunderd along,
Steadily yet, for our strength we were nursing;
Tall Ewart, our sergeant, was humming a song,
Lance-corporal Black Will was blaspheming and cursing.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Fogarty's Gin

A sweat-dripping horse and a half-naked myall,
And a message: Come out to the back of the run
Be out at the stake-yards by rising of sun!
Ride hard and fail not! there's the devil to pay:
For the men from Monkyra have mustered the run
Cows and calves, calves of ours, without ever a brand,
Fifty head, if there's one, on the camp there they stand.
Come out to the stake-yards, nor fail me, or by all
The saints they'll be drafted and driven away!'
Boot and saddle it was to the rolling of curses:
Snatching whip, snatching spurs, where they hung on the nail.
In his wrath old McIvor, head stockman, turned pale,
Spitting oaths with his head 'neath the flap of his saddle;
Taking up the last hole in the girth with his teeth;
Then a hand on the pommel, a quick catch of breath,

Barcroft Boake

Featherstonhaugh

Brookong station lay half-asleep
Dozed in the waning western glare
(Twas before the run had stocked with sheep
And only cattle depastured there)
As the Bluccap mob reined up at the door
And loudly saluted Featherstonhaugh.

My saintly preacher, the leader cried,
I stand no nonsense, as youre aware,
Ive a word for you if youll step outside,
Just drop that pistol and have a care;
Ill trouble you, too, for the key of the store,
For were short of tucker, friend Featherstonhaugh.

The muscular Christian showed no fear,
Though he handed the key with but small delay.
He never answered the ruffians jeer
Except by a look which seemed to say,
Beware, my friend, and think twice before
You raise the devil in Featherstonhaugh.

Two hou...

Barcroft Boake

Chapter Headings - The Light That Failed

So we settled it all when the storm was done
As comfy as comfy could be;
And I was to wait in the barn, my dears,
Because I was only three;
And Teddy would run to the rainbows foot
Because he was five and a man;
And thats how it all began, my dears,
And thats how it all began!



Then we brought the lances down, then the trumpets blew
When we went to Kandahar, ridin two an two.
Ridin, ridin, ridin, two an two!
Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-a!
All the way to Kandahar,
Ridin two an two.



The, wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn,
When the smoke of the cooking hung grey.
He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn,
And he looked to his strength for his prey.
But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away,
And he turned...

Rudyard

Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

What else should he be set for, with his staff?
What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch gin write my epitaph
For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,

If at his counsel I should turn aside
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
So much as gladness...

Robert Browning