Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

[C. J. Dennis] (7 September 1876 - 22 June 1938 / Auburn, South Australia)

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis Poems

281. In Time 9/4/2012
282. The Bar-Room Patriot 9/4/2012
283. The Heart Of The Dove 9/4/2012
284. My Epitaph 9/4/2012
285. There Once Was A Fellow Called Croll 9/4/2012
286. The Martyr Of Bovinia 9/4/2012
287. The Eternal Circle 9/4/2012
288. Son Of A Fool 9/4/2012
289. The Bloke Wot Gits The Girls 9/4/2012
290. Moonlight 9/4/2012
291. The Woes Of Bill 9/4/2012
292. The Minglers 9/4/2012
293. Kisses And The Rhythmic Principle 9/4/2012
294. The Impervious Iceberg 9/4/2012
295. The Mountain Laboured 9/4/2012
296. The Joy Ride 9/4/2012
297. The Weary Philosopher 9/4/2012
298. The Age Of Reason 9/4/2012
299. Masefield, Poet And Man 9/4/2012
300. The Great God Guff 9/4/2012
301. The Freetrade Rabbit Pie 9/4/2012
302. The Fortunes Of Grandison Lee 9/4/2012
303. The Liberal Constitution 9/4/2012
304. The Mellowing Of Joe 9/4/2012
305. The Hoary Precedent 9/4/2012
306. The Leader That Was Pushed 9/4/2012
307. King Billy Chips In 9/4/2012
308. The Interloper 9/5/2012
309. The Martyred Democrat 9/5/2012
310. The Intro 9/4/2012
311. Kids! 9/5/2012
312. His Bread And His Art 9/5/2012
313. The Lingothatweuze 9/5/2012
314. The Apologist 9/5/2012
315. The Insect 9/5/2012
316. The Wobblers 9/5/2012
317. The Wobble 9/5/2012
318. If Cohen Would 9/5/2012
319. The Idolators 9/5/2012
320. The Over-Fed Fuse 9/5/2012

Comments about Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

  • Amelia Bright (4/1/2008 3:49:00 AM)

    the reson i have looked this poem up is we are lerning it at bribie island state school it is a good poem for kids my techer learnt it 50 years ago.

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Best Poem of Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

Hist!

Hist! . . . . . . Hark!
The night is very dark,
And we've to go a mile or so
Across the Possum Park.

Step . . . . . . light,
Keeping to the right;
If we delay, and lose our way,
We'll be out half the night.
The clouds are low and gloomy. Oh!
It's just begun to mist!
We haven't any overcoats
And - Hist! . . . . . . Hist!

(Mo . . . . . . poke!)
Who was that that spoke?
This is not a fitting spot
To make a silly joke.

Dear . . . . . . me!
A mopoke in a tree!
It jarred me so, I didn't know
Whatever it could be.
But come along;...

Read the full of Hist!

Old Farmer Jack

Old farmer Jack gazed on his wheat,
And feared the frost would nip it.
Said he, "it's nearly seven feet -
I must begin to strip 'it.

He stripped it with a stripper and
He bagged it with a bagger;
The bags were all so lumpy that
They made the bumper stagger.

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