The Three Quiet Gentlemen

There is a quiet gentleman a-motoring in France
(Oh, dont you hear the honking of a British motor-car?),
Like any quiet gentleman that you may meet by chance,
Who doesnt wear a uniform, and doesnt sport a star.
Another quiet gentleman is sitting by his side
(Oh, do you hear the shuffling feet tonight in Gay Paree?),
The honking of their motor-car, when they go for a ride,
Is louder than the biggest gun thats made in Germany.
Another quiet gentleman, whos very like the first
(Oh, dont you hear the tinkle of the sleigh-bells on the snow?)
Is riding out in Russia now to watch the best and worst.
Oh, hear the bells of Petrograd a-ringing soft and low,
The Christmas bells of Petrograd, that hail the birth of Christ;
The sleigh-bells from the opera that hail the birth of Sin,
While eyes of men are dried in Hell and hearts of men are iced,
Are louder than the loudest blare thats blaring in Berlin.

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

To Hannah

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Sacred To The Memory Of Unknown

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Secret Whisky Cure

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Man From Waterloo

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Gentlemen Of Dickens

The gentlemen of Dickens
Were mostly very poor,
And innocent of grammar,
And of parentage obscure;
But rich or poor or thriving,
Of high or lowly birth,
The gentlemen of Dickens
Were the grandest on the earth.

The gentlemen of Dickens,
They wore no fancy names,
Like Reginald or Percy
Fitzgerald or FitzJames;
But names for fools to laugh at,
That sound like hob-nailed boots,
Like Newman Noggs and Knubbles,
Toodles and Mr Toots.

Theyd little save their kindness,
Their honesty and truth;
They mostly came embarrassed,
And stammering and uncouth;
But the gentlemen of Dickens,
Their women and their girls,
Could speak their minds if need be
To ladies and to earls.

But one who wore a title
A lesson, too, ...

Henry Lawson

A New John Bull

A tall, slight, English gentleman,
With an eyeglass to his eye;
He mostly says Good-Bai to you,
When he means to say Good-bye;
He shakes hands like a ladies man,
For all the world to see,
But they know, in Corners of the World.
No ladies man is he.
A tall, slight English gentleman,
Who hates to soil his hands;
He takes his mothers drawing-room
To the most outlandish lands;
And when, through Hells we dream not of,
His battery prevails,
He cleans the grime of gunpowder
And blue blood from his nails.

Hes what our blokes in Egypt call
A decent kinder cove.
And if the Pyramids should fall?
Hed merely say Bai Jove!
And if the stones should block his path
For a twelve-month, or a day,
Hed call on Sergeant Whatsisname<...

Henry Lawson

The Empty Glass

There are three lank bards in a borrowed room,
Ah! The number is one too few,
They have deemed their home and the bars unfit
For the thing that they have to do.
Three glasses they fill with the Lands own wine,
And the bread of life they pass.
Their glasses they take, which they slowly raise,
And they drink to an empty glass.

(Theres a greater glare in the street to-night,
And a louder rush and roar,
Theres a mad crowd yelling the winners name,
And howling the cricket score:
Oh! The bright moonlight on the angels white,
And the tombs and the monuments grand,
And down by the water at Waverley
Theres a little lone mound of sand.)

Oh, the drinkers would deem them drunk or mad,
And the barmaid stare and frown,
Each lays a hand on the empt...

Henry Lawson

For He Was A Jolly Good Fellow

They cheered him from the wharf, it was a glorious day:
His hand went to his scarf, his thoughts were far away.
Oh, he was Jolly Good, they sang it long and loud,
The money lender stood unknown amongst the crowd.
Hed taken him aside, while trembling fit to fall,
No friendly eye espied the last farewell of all!

He held a peevish kid, another at his knee;
The wife whom he could bid farewell, eternally
Stood nagging at his side in tones that none could hear,
And deared him, tender eyed, when passengers came near
(The cabin waits below the row and childrens squall,
And not a soul to know the bitter farce of all).

Their hearts were good as gold, each pocket spared a tray,
They pooled them as of old to drink him on his way.
His pile of luggage rose, as brave...

Henry Lawson

The Jolly Dead March

If I ever be worthy or famous,
Which Im sadly beginning to doubt,
When the angel whose place tis to name us
Shall say to my spirit, Pass out!
I wish for no snivlling about me
(My work was the work of the land),
But I hope that my country will shout me
The price of a decent brass band.

Thump! thump! of the drum and Ta-ra-rit,
Thump! thump! and the music, its grand,
If only in dreams, or in spirit,
To ride or march after the band!
And myself and my mourners go straying,
And strolling and drifting along
With a band in the front of us playing
The tune of an old battle song!

I ask for no turn-out to bear me;
I ask not for railings or slabs,
And spare me! my country, oh, spare me!
The hearse and the long string of cabs!
I as...

Henry Lawson

The Imported Servant

The Blue Sky arches oer mountain and valley,
The scene is as fair as a scene can be,
But Im breaking my heart for a London alley,
And fogs that shall never come back to me.
I choke with tears when the day is dying,
The sunsets grand and the stars are bright;
But its O! for the smell of the fried fish frying
By the flaring stalls on a Saturday night.

And this, oh, this is the lonely sequel
Of all I pictured would come to pass!
They are treating me here as a friend and equal,
But theyd say in London that theyre no class.
When I think of their kindness my tears flow faster,
The girls are free and the chaps are grand:
Its the boss and the missus for mistress and master,
And they may be right, But I dont understand.

I see the air in its warm ...

Henry Lawson