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| Search results for: p | Found 8786 Poems |
| 2121. | Frying Pan's Theology by Andrew Barton Paterson | | Shock-headed blackfellow,
Boy (on a pony).
Snowflakes are falling
Gentle and slow,
Youngster says, "Frying Pan
What makes it snow?"
Fryi... |
| 2122. | A Motor Courtship by Andrew Barton Paterson | | Into her presence he gaily pranced,
A very fat spark, and a bit advanced.
With a Samson tread on the earth he trod,
He was stayed and gaitered, ... |
| 2123. | Pioneers by Andrew Barton Paterson | | They came of bold and roving stock that would not fixed abide;
There were the sons of field and flock since e’er they learned to ride;
We may no... |
| 2124. | The Scapegoat by Andrew Barton Paterson | | We have all of us read how the Israelites fled
From Egypt with Pharaoh in eager pursuit of 'em,
And Pharaoh's fierce troop were all put "in the so... |
| 2125. | The Mylora Elopement by Andrew Barton Paterson | | By the winding Wollondilly where the weeping willows weep,
And the shepherd, with his billy, half awake and half asleep,
Folds his fleecy flocks t... |
| 2126. | El Mahdi to the Australian Troops by Andrew Barton Paterson | | And wherefore have they come, this warlike band,
That o'er the ocean many a weary day
Have tossed; and now beside Suakim's Bay,
With faces stern... |
| 2127. | The Ballad of the Calliope by Andrew Barton Paterson | | By the far Samoan shore,
Where the league-long rollers pour
All the wash of the Pacific on the coral-guarded bay,
Riding lightly at their ease, ... |
| 2128. | The Ballad of That P.N. by Andrew Barton Paterson | | The shades of night had fallen at last,
When through the house a shadow passed,
That once had been the Genial Dan,
But now become a desperate ma... |
| 2129. | The Protest by Andrew Barton Paterson | | I say 'e isn't Remorse!
'Ow do I know?
Saw 'im on Riccarton course
Two year ago!
Think I'd forget any 'orse?
Course 'e's The Crow!
Bumper ... |
| 2130. | The Travelling Post Office by Andrew Barton Paterson | | The roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway,
The sleepy river murmers low,and loiters on its way,
It is the land of lots o'time a... |
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