Banjo Paterson

(17 February 1864 – 5 February 1941 / New South Wales)

Banjo Paterson Poems

1. The Ballad Of G. R. Dibbs 1/1/2004
2. The Sausage Candidate-A Tale Of The Elections 1/1/2004
3. The Quest Eternal 1/1/2004
4. Saltbush Bill's Second Flight 1/1/2004
5. The Reveille 1/1/2004
6. The Reverend Mullineux 1/1/2004
7. Tom Collins 1/1/2004
8. Tommy Corrigan 1/1/2004
9. With The Cattle 1/1/2004
10. Wisdom Of Hafiz: The Philosopher Takes To Racing 1/1/2004
11. Morgan's Dog 1/1/2004
12. The Ballad Of That P.N. 1/1/2004
13. The Amateur Rider 1/1/2004
14. Black Harry's Team 1/1/2004
15. Buffalo Country 1/1/2004
16. Commandeering 1/1/2004
17. The Man From Goondiwindi, Q. 1/1/2004
18. A Motor Courtship 1/1/2004
19. A Nervous Governor-General 1/1/2004
20. Policeman G. 1/1/2004
21. Saltbush Bill's Gamecock 1/1/2004
22. That Half-Crown Sweep 1/1/2004
23. That V.C. 1/1/2004
24. The All Right Un 1/1/2004
25. It's Grand 1/1/2004
26. Jim Carew 1/1/2004
27. Jimmy Dooley's Army 1/1/2004
28. Gone Down 1/1/2004
29. The Two Devines 1/1/2004
30. The Wargeilah Handicap 1/1/2004
31. The Winds Message 1/1/2004
32. The Pannikin Poet 1/1/2004
33. The Rhyme Of The O'sullivan 1/1/2004
34. The Ballad Of The Carpet Bag 1/1/2004
35. The Duties Of An Aide-De-Camp 1/1/2004
36. Shearing With A Hoe 1/1/2004
37. Daylight Is Dying 1/1/2004
38. On The Trek 1/1/2004
39. In The Stable 1/1/2004
40. Gilhooley's Estate 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Banjo Paterson

A Dog's Mistake

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear.
He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.

Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of ...

Read the full of A Dog's Mistake

Fed Up

I ain't a timid man at all, I'm just as brave as most,
I'll take my chance in open fight and die beside my post;
But riding round the 'ole day long as target for a Krupp,
A-drawing fire from Koppies -- well, I'm fair fed up.
It's wonderful how few get hit, it's luck that pulls us through;
Their rifle fire's no class at all, it misses me and you;
But when they sprinkle shells around like water from a cup
From that there blooming pom-pom gun -- well, I'm fed up.

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