Edward Dyson

Edward Dyson

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Edward George Dyson (4 March 1865 – 22 August 1931), or 'Ted' Dyson, was an Australian journalist, poet, playwright and short story writer. He was the elder brother of illustrators Will Dyson (1880–1938) and Ambrose Dyson (1876–1913), with three sisters also of artistic and literary praise.
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NG the swamp and the tangled scrub, Tramping and turning amidst the trees,
Carrying nothing but blankets and grub, Careless of pleasure and health and ease,
Hither and thither with never a goal, Heavy, and solemn, and stiff, and slow,
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I’ve sung of Honor’s golden hair   And Hero’s auburn tresses,
Of Bella’s back abundance, where   The sun throws his caresses;
I’ve sung of curl, and coil, and braid;   On meshes I’ve dilated,
Until at last I’m sore
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‘I’M
FF on the wallaby
’ cries Old Ben,    And his pipe is lit, and his swag is rolled;‘There is nothing here for us old-time men,    But up north,
I hear, they are on the gold
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“A soldier braving disease and death on the battlefield has a seven times better chance of life than a new-born baby
”—Secretary of War,
U
S
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WE
ED as boys o’er worked-out ground    By littered fiat and muddy stream,
We watched the whim horse trudging round,    And rode upon the circling beam,
Within the old uproarious mill    Fed mad, insatiable stamps,
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I said: “I leave my bit of land-   In khaki they've entwined me,
I go abroad to lend a hand
” Said she: “My love,
I understand
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We were living in a flat; it was number eighty-three
At eighty-four the Barleys lived, a fearsome man was he
He had a wife and numerous kids
We heard then rip and cuss,
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WE’VE a tale to tell you of a spavined emit, A bird with a smile like a crack in a hat,
Who was owned by M‘Cue, of the township of Whroo, The county of Rodney—his front name was Pat
The bird was a dandy, although a bit bandy, Her knees, ...
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He came from tumbled country past the humps of Buffalo Where the snow sits on the mountain 'n' the Summer aches below
He'd a silly name like Archie
Squattin' sullen on the ship,
He knew nex' to holy nothin' through the gor- forsaken...
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UT of work and out of money—out of friends that means, you bet—Out of firewood, togs and tucker, out of everything but debt—And I loathe the barren pavements, and the crowds a fellow meets,
And the maddening repetition of the suffocating stre...
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Ben Unger’s wife was dark and small, With little, round, black eyes;
Ben Unger started at her call, For Ben had been made wise
No dirge could crush his spirit but The one by Annie sung;
No whip-lash ever made could cut Like Annie Un...
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What is meant by active service 'Ere where sin is leakin' loose, 'N' the oldest 'and's as nervis As a dog-bedevilled goose, Has bin writ be every poet What can rhyme it worth a dam, But the 'orror as we know it Is jist jam, jam,
AM
Oh, t...
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What price yer humble,
Dicko Smith, in gaudy putties girt, With sand-blight in his optics, and much leaner than he started,
Round the 'Oly Land cavorting in three- quarters of a shirt, And imposin' on the natives ez one Dick the Lion 'Ea...
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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
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Back again 'n' nothin' missin' barrin' arf a hand,
Where an Abdul bit me, chokin' in the Holy Land
'Struth, they got some dirty fighters in the Moslem pack,
Bull-nosed slugs their sneakin' snipers spat ters in yer back Blows a gapin...
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In days before the trouble Jo was rated as     a slob
He chose to sit in hourly expectation of a job
He'd loop hisself upon a post, for seldom     friends had he,
A gift of patient waitin' his distinctif quality
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