Edward George Dyson

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

Edward George Dyson Poems

41. Waiting For Water 4/13/2010
42. Weeping Willie 4/13/2010
43. Unredeemed 4/13/2010
44. The Letters Of The Dead 4/13/2010
45. The Shanty 4/13/2010
46. The Old Camp-Oven 4/13/2010
47. Night Shift 4/13/2010
48. The Drovers In Reply 4/13/2010
49. The Hapless Army 4/13/2010
50. Jam (A Hymn Of Hate) 4/13/2010
51. The Splitter 4/13/2010
52. To A Politician 4/13/2010
53. The Emu Of Whroo 4/13/2010
54. Out Of Khaki 4/13/2010
55. When Brother Peetree Prayed 4/13/2010
56. When Beauty Is Bald 4/13/2010
57. The Tale Of Steven 4/13/2010
58. Cricket Is A Serious Thing 4/13/2010
59. To The Men Of The Mines 4/13/2010
60. Joey’s Job 4/13/2010
61. When The Bell Blew Up 4/13/2010
62. A Friendly Game Of Football 4/13/2010
63. German Joe 4/13/2010
64. A Thermometrical Ballade 4/13/2010
65. Ah Ling, The Leper 4/13/2010
66. Battered Bob 4/13/2010
67. Bullets 4/13/2010
68. In Town 4/13/2010
69. In Hospital 4/13/2010
70. The One At Home 4/13/2010
71. A New Girl Up At White’s 4/13/2010
72. In The Benevolent 4/13/2010
73. Bricks 4/13/2010
74. Bullocky Bill 4/13/2010
75. An Inequitable Impost 4/13/2010
76. The Fact Of The Matter 4/13/2010
77. Peace, Blessed Peace 4/13/2010
78. My Typewriter 4/13/2010
79. Bashful Gleeson 4/13/2010
80. Highly Desireable 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

Cleaning Up

When the horse has been unharnessed and we've flushed the old machine,
And the water o'er the sluice is running evenly and clean;
When there's thirty load before us, and the sun is high and bright,
And we've worked from early morning and shall have to work till night,
Not a man of us is weary, though the graft is pretty rough,
If we see the proper colour showing freely through the stuff.
With a dandy head of water and a youngster at the rear
To hand along the billy, boys, and keep the tai

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