Edward George Dyson

(March 1865 - 22 August 1931 / Ballarat / Victoria / Australia)

Edward George Dyson Poems

1. The Crusaders 4/13/2010
2. Breaking It Gently 4/13/2010
3. The Auction 3/21/2012
4. The Girl I Left Behind Me 4/13/2010
5. Sister Ann 4/13/2010
6. Worked-Out Mine 1/1/2004
7. The Single-Handed Team 4/13/2010
8. The Tin-Pot Mill 4/13/2010
9. The Moralist 4/13/2010
10. Of The True Endeavour 4/13/2010
11. Repaired 4/13/2010
12. Since Nellie Came To Live Along The Creek 4/13/2010
13. The Prospectors 4/13/2010
14. The Rescue 4/13/2010
15. The Trucker 4/13/2010
16. Whose Wife 4/13/2010
17. The Deserted Homestead 4/13/2010
18. The Immortal Strain 4/13/2010
19. The Common Men 4/13/2010
20. Marshal Neigh, V.C. 4/13/2010
21. When Tommy Came Marching Home 4/13/2010
22. The Young Lieutenant 4/13/2010
23. Peter Simson's Farm 1/1/2004
24. Jonah’s Luck 4/13/2010
25. Simple Sister Goes To Sydney 4/13/2010
26. The Happy Flatite 4/13/2010
27. Mickey Mollynoo 4/13/2010
28. The Weeds 4/13/2010
29. Quits 4/13/2010
30. Stop-And-See 4/13/2010
31. The Fossicker 4/13/2010
32. The Germ 4/13/2010
33. The Unborn 4/13/2010
34. The Happy Gardeners 4/13/2010
35. The Living Picture 4/13/2010
36. Why Spring Fell Flat 4/13/2010
37. William And Bill 4/13/2010
38. Mud 4/13/2010
39. Wherefore Art Thou Romeo? 4/13/2010
40. To The Theoretical Selector 4/13/2010
Best Poem of Edward George Dyson

The Church Bells

The Viennese authorities have melted down
the great bell in St. Stephen's to supply metal
for guns or muntions. Every poor village
has made a similar gift.—Lokal Anzeiger.


The great bell booms across the town,
Reverberant and slow,
And drifting from their houses down
The calm-eyed people go.
Their feet fall on the portal stones
Their fathers' fathers trod;
And still the bell, with reverent tones,
From cottage nooks and purple thrones
Is calling souls to God.

The chapel bells with ardor spake
Above the poplars tall,
And ...

Read the full of The Church Bells

Peter Simson's Farm

Simson settled in the timber when his arm was strong and true,
And his form was straight and limber; and he wrought the long day through
In a struggle, single-handed, and the trees fell slowly back,
Twenty thousand giants banded ’gainst a solitary jack.

Through the fiercest days of summer you might hear his keen axe ring
And re-echo in the ranges, hear his twanging crosscut sing;
There the great gums swayed and whispered, and the birds were skyward blown,
As the c

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