Explore "Collected Poetry" by Andrew Barton Paterson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O west of all that a man holds dear, on the edge of the Kingdom / Come, Where carriage is far too high for beer, and the pubs keep only rum, / On the sunburnt ways of the Outer Back, on the plains of the darkening scrub, / I have followed the wandering teamster's track, and it always led to a pub.
There's always in man some gift to show, some power he can command, / And mine is the Gift that I always know when a pub is close at hand; / I can pick them out on the London streets, though most of their pubs are queer, / Such solid-looking and swell retreats, with never a sign of beer.