In The Height Of Fashion

So at last a toll theyll levy
For the passing fool who sings,
Take the harp grown dull and heavy
(With the dried blood on the strings)
Let us sing, and sing right gaily,
For the wreath is on our brow,
Are you hearin, Victor Daley?
We are fashionable now!

Once the greatest earl could flout us,
And the meanest scribe could sneer,
Nought too bad to say about us,
Nought too hard for us to hear.
Slaves to journal-owning Neroes,
And we died, no matter how,
Were sweet singers now and heroes,
We are fashionable now.

Once we suffered all save gaol, if
Wed no rich admirers near;
And our sole guest was the bailiff
And our only comfort beer.
Now well dine with toffs and ladies,
Who shall clasp our hands and bow.
Let the pale muse go to Hades!
We are fashionable now.

Once we had to be contented
With the Palace of the Mind,
While our coats were washed and mended,
And our pants were patched behind;
Now by goose-knights we are measured,
While the lordly tailors bow;
And our worn-out pants are treasured,
We are fashionable now!

Once, when stony-broke and mournful,
We put our petition clear,
Then our country, cold and scornful,
Answered, Go and get a beer!
And it threw the tray bit at us
Just to stop our silly row,
Now its champagne spreads and, satis!
We are fashionable now.

Once our grandest lines were drivel,
And our wisest words were rot,
All our teachings false and evil,
To be sneered at and forgot;
Now our silliest clack delights em,
Doggerel their feelings plow,
And our shallow bluff affrights em,
We are fashionable now!

I adore the Swagman, Drover,
When the World was Round!, But ah!
While the Billys Boiling Over
Is too awfully hurrah!
Thus the maiden trills and gushes
While her johnnie knots his brow,
And the fair young maiden blushes,
We are fashionable now!

I like your book, Mr Lawson,
Clancy of the Overflow,
Better far than Mr Banjos,
When Your Pants Begin to Go.
No! I am no longer snarling,
Long ago we had our row,
Dont be angry, Banjo, darling,
Though Im fashionable now.

I am feeling young and restive,
Skittish more than I can tell,
Skipping with a skip thats festive,
Singing with a gladsome yell.
I will let my hair grow longer,
Storm-tossed from my stormy brow,
I am going strong and stronger,
For Im fashionable now.

We shall write lines to their poodles,
Darlings of Society,
Praise the blatant cad who boodles,
Write odes to the Divorcee.
Let, at last Australia know its
Brilliant circles anyhow,
Were the Doo-dah, Doo-dah! Poets,
We are fashionable now.

Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. Along with Banjo Paterson, he is among the best-known Australian poets and fiction writers of the colonial period and is often called Australia's 'greatest short story writer'. His works frequently document the lives and struggles of rural and outback Australians. Lawson's own life was marked by hardship and struggles including impaired hearing and financial difficulties, which influenced his realist depictions of Australian life. Some of his notable works include 'While the Billy Boils' and 'In the Days When the World was Wide.'

Henry Lawson

Knocked Up

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Uncle Harry

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

To Be Amused

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Brother, Youll Take My Hand

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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Sydney Town In 91

Let us sing a song as not a
Solitary poet sings,
For our seething brain has got a
Mighty grip on earthly things;
We can feel the strength within us,
And our soul is bounding high,
And our hissing pen shall win us
Wealth and Beauty by-and-bye.

Listen to the thunder swelling
Till the mighty west vibrates!
Tis the horny-handed yelling
For the Labour candidates!
Hear the language of the frisky
Push assisting at the fun:
Liberty, and rum and whisky!
Sydney town in 91.

Whack the poor and cut a caper,
Turn the taps and shout wharroo!
For each Sydney leading paper
Has a candidate or two.
Every new one is an ember,
Lighting up this land of sin,
Clever little B, , k is member
For the Sydney Bulletin.

Wherefor...

Henry Lawson

The Bards Who Lived At Manly

The camp of high-class spielers,
Who sneered in summer dress,
And doo-dah dilettante,
And scornful venuses,
House agents, and storekeepers,
All eager they to bleed,
The bards who tackled Manly,
Were plucky bards indeed!

With shops that feared to trust them,
And pubs that looked askance;
And prigs who read their verses,
But gave them not a glance;,
When all were vain and selfish,
And editors were hard,
The bard that stuck to Manly
Was sure a mighty bard.

What mattered floors were barren,
And windows curtainless,
And our life seemed to others
But blackguard recklessness?
We wore our clothes for comfort,
We earned our bread alway,
And beer and good tobacco
Came somehow every day.

Came kindred souls to ...

Henry Lawson

The Sorrows Of A Simple Bard

When I tell a tale of virtue and of injured innocence,
Then my publishers and lawyers are the densest of the dense:
With the blank face of an image and the nod of keep-it-dark
And a wink of mighty meaning at their confidential clerk.

(When, Oh! tell me when shall poets cease to be misunderstood?
When, Oh! When? shall people reckon rhymers can be any good?
Do their work and pay their debts and drink their pint of beer, and then,
Look in womans eyes and leave them, just like ordinary men?)

Is there literary friendship twix the sexes? dont you think?
And they wink their idiotic and exasperating wink.
Cant we kiss a clever woman without wanting any more?
And their clock-work nod is only more decided than before.

But if I should hint that theres a little wom...

Henry Lawson

The Old, Old Story And The New Order

They proved we could not think nor see,
They proved we could not write,
They proved we drank the day away
And raved through half the night.
They proved our stars were never up,
Theyve proved our stars are set,
Theyve proved we neer saw sorrows cup,
And theyre not happy yet.

They proved that in the Southern Land
We all led vicious lives;
Theyve proved we starved our children, and,
Theyve proved we beat our wives.
Theyve proved we never worked, and we
Were never out of debt;
Theyve proved us bad as we can be
And theyre not happy yet.

The Daily Press, with paltry power,
For reasons understood,
Have aye sought to belittle our
Unhappy brotherhood.
Because we fought in days like these,
Where rule the upper tens,
Be...

Henry Lawson

The Old, Old Story And The New Order

They proved we could not think nor see,
They proved we could not write,
They proved we drank the day away
And raved through half the night.
They proved our stars were never up,
Theyve proved our stars are set,
Theyve proved we neer saw sorrows cup,
And theyre not happy yet.

They proved that in the Southern Land
We all led vicious lives;
Theyve proved we starved our children, and,
Theyve proved we beat our wives.
Theyve proved we never worked, and we
Were never out of debt;
Theyve proved us bad as we can be
And theyre not happy yet.

The Daily Press, with paltry power,
For reasons understood,
Have aye sought to belittle our
Unhappy brotherhood.
Because we fought in days like these,
Where rule the upper tens,
Be...

Henry Lawson

A Dan Yell

I wish Id never gone to board
In that house where I met
The touring lady from abroad,
Who mocks my nightmares yet.
I wish, I wish that she had saved
Her news of what shed seen,
That Dan OConnor is clean shaved
And parts his hair between.

The ladies down at Manly now,
And widows understood,
No more deplore their marriage vow
Or hopeless widowhood.
For Dan OConnor is the same
As though hed never been,
Since Daniel shaved that shave of shame,
And combed his hair between.

No more, Oh Bards, in Danyel tones
Hell voice our several fames,
And nevermore hell mix our bones
As once he mixed our names.
Let Southern minstrels dree their weird
And lay their sad harps down,
For Dan OConnors shorn of beard
And cracked a...

Henry Lawson