Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake

(26 March 1866 – May 1892 / Sydney / Australia)

Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake Poems

1. The Digger's Song 1/1/2004
2. To A Hatpeg 4/9/2010
3. At Devlin's Siding 1/1/2004
4. On The Boundary 1/1/2004
5. Skeeta ( An Old Servant's Tale ) 1/1/2004
6. The Box-Tree's Love 4/9/2010
7. The Demon Snow-Shoes (A Legend Of Kiandra) 1/1/2004
8. 'Twixt The Wings Of The Yard 1/1/2004
9. Our Visitor 1/1/2004
10. The Babes In The Bush 4/9/2010
11. Babs Malone 4/9/2010
12. Jack's Last Muster 1/1/2004
13. At The "J. C." 1/1/2004
14. Kelly's Conversion 4/9/2010
15. Jack Corrigan 1/1/2004
16. Jimmy Wood 1/1/2004
17. Kitty Mccrae - A Galloping Rhyme 1/1/2004
18. From The Far West 4/9/2010
19. How Polly Paid For Her Keep 1/1/2004
20. On The Range 1/1/2004
21. Josephus Riley 4/9/2010
22. An Easter Rhyme 4/9/2010
23. Jim's Whip 1/1/2004
24. A Vision Out West 4/9/2010
25. A Wayside Queen 4/9/2010
26. Desiree 4/9/2010
27. Fogarty's Gin 4/9/2010
28. Where The Dead Men Lie 1/1/2004
29. Featherstonhaugh 1/1/2004
30. How Babs Malone Cut Down The Field 1/1/2004
31. Down The River 1/1/2004
32. An Allegory 1/1/2004
33. A Memory 1/1/2004
34. A Song 1/1/2004
35. A Valentine 4/9/2010
36. A Bushman's Love 1/1/2004
37. A Song From A Sandhill 4/9/2010

Comments about Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake

  • Babyjoram Benson (5/18/2009 8:19:00 AM)

    My name is Miss favor am 24yr old. I saw your profile today at
    and it really acttract me alot i believe that you are the man i
    have been looking for to share my love; How is your health? i hope all is well
    with you. I believe that we can move from here; but remember that distance; age
    and colour dose not matter what matters is the true love and understanding; in
    my next
    e-mail i shall include my pictuer; i been waithing for your reply mail
    me with this mail address for further introduction.
    Bye hopeing to hear from you soonest


    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Best Poem of Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake

A Song From A Sandhill

Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly—
The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky:
Each drooping frond of pine has got a jewel at its tip—
First a twinkle, then a sprinkle, and a drip, drip, drip.

Drip, drip, drip! They must be shearing up on high.
Can't you see the snowy fleeces that are rolling, rolling by?
How many bales, I wonder, are they branding to the clip?
P'r'aps the Boss is keeping tally with this drip, drip, drip.

Drip, drip, drip! while the sodden branches sigh:
The jovial jackass dare not laugh for fear that he should cry:

Read the full of A Song From A Sandhill


Brookong station lay half-asleep
Dozed in the waning western glare
('Twas before the run had stocked with sheep
And only cattle depastured there)
As the Bluccap mob reined up at the door
And loudly saluted Featherstonhaugh.

"My saintly preacher," the leader cried,
"I stand no nonsense, as you're aware,

[Report Error]