| | Poem Title | First Lines | Period | # Lines | # Reads |
| 1: | A Death At Sea. (Coral Sea, Australia.) | Dead in the sheep-pen he lies, | | 40 | 324 |
| 2: | A Fool. (Brisbane). | He asked me of my friend - "a clever man; | | 99 | 249 |
| 3: | A Glimpse Of China. "Caste." | These Chinese toil and yet they do not starve, | | 8 | 274 |
| 4: | A Glimpse Of China. In A Chair. | From the bright and blinding sunshine, | | 28 | 269 |
| 5: | A Glimpse Of China. In A Sampan. | Up in the misty morning, | | 8 | 274 |
| 6: | A Glimpse Of China. Over The Samovar. {69A} | Yes, I used always to think | | 32 | 285 |
| 7: | A Mahommadan Ship Fireman. | Up from the oven pit, | | 8 | 266 |
| 8: | A South-Sea Islander. | Aloll in the warm clear water, | | 12 | 274 |
| 9: | A Story. (For The Irish Delegates In Australia.) | Do you want to hear a story | | 54 | 264 |
| 10: | A Street Fight. (To Mr F - - .) {38} | Sir, we approve your curling lip and nose | | 12 | 255 |
| 11: | A Visitor In The Camp. To Mary Robinson. {27} | What, are you lost, my pretty little lady? | | 14 | 275 |
| 12: | Algernon Charles Swinburne. | Shrieks out of smoke, a flame of dung-straw fire | | 28 | 270 |
| 13: | An "Assassin." | They caught them at the bend. He and his son | | 30 | 288 |
| 14: | Analogy. (To D - - L - - .) | Had you lived when a tyrant king | | 18 | 260 |
| 15: | Anarchism. | Tis not when I am here, | | 16 | 261 |
| 16: | Art. | Yes, let Art go, if it must be | | 20 | 291 |
| 17: | Art. | Yes, let Art go, if it must be | | 20 | 303 |
| 18: | At The India Docks. A Memory Of August, 1883. | I stood in the ghastly gleaming night by the swollen, sullen flow | | 81 | 274 |
| 19: | At The Seamen's Union. {84} "The Seamen And The Miners." | One rises now and speaks: "The Cause is one - | | 20 | 310 |
| 20: | Australia. | I see a land of desperate droughts and floods: | | 15 | 245 |
| 21: | Aux Ternes. {46} (Paris.) | Up and down, up and down, | | 52 | 254 |
| 22: | Axiom. | Let him who toils, enjoy | | 8 | 301 |
| 23: | Belgravia By Night. "Move On!" | The foxes have holes, | | 10 | 256 |
| 24: | Dai Butsu. {70} | He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest | | 14 | 259 |
| 25: | Defeat? | Who is it speaks of defeat? - | | 12 | 256 |
| 26: | Dirge. (Brisbane.) "A Little Soldier Of The Army Of The Night." | Bury him without a word! | | 20 | 295 |
| 27: | Drill. | When day's hard task's done, | | 28 | 260 |
| 28: | Dublin At Dawn. | In the chill grey summer dawn-light | | 48 | 272 |
| 29: | Elsie: A Memory. | Little elfin maid, | | 16 | 242 |
| 30: | England. | Where'er I go in this dense East, | | 8 | 255 |
| 31: | England. In The Camp. | This is a leader's tent. "Who gathers here?" | | 24 | 262 |
| 32: | Epode. "On The Ranges, Queensland." | Beyond the night, down o'er the labouring East, | | 53 | 268 |
| 33: | Evening Hymn In The Hovels. | We sow the fertile seed and then we reap it; | | 20 | 246 |
| 34: | Farewell To The Children. | In the early summer morning | | 64 | 290 |
| 35: | Farewell To The Market. "Susannah And Mary-Jane." | Two little darlings alone, | | 52 | 243 |
| 36: | Father Abe. | O we knew so well, dear Father, | | 40 | 276 |
| 37: | From A Verandah. (Sydney.) "Armageddon." | O city lapped in sun and Sabbath rest, | | 12 | 259 |
| 38: | Hagar. | She went along the road, | | 20 | 265 |
| 39: | Happy Valley." {66} | There is a valley green that lies | | 12 | 293 |
| 40: | Henry George. (Melbourne.) | I came to buy a book. It was a shop | | 51 | 242 |
| 41: | Her Poem: "My Baby Girl, That Was Born And Died On The Same Day." | Ah, with torn heart I see them still, | | 16 | 264 |
| 42: | Holy Russia. | Crouched in the terrible land, | | 42 | 274 |
| 43: | Hong-Kong Lyrics. | At anchor in that harbour of the island, | | 56 | 259 |
| 44: | In An East End Hovel. To A Workman, A Would-Be Suicide. | Man of despair and death, | | 31 | 291 |
| 45: | In The Edgware Road. (To Lord L - - .) | Will you not buy? She asks you, my lord, you | | 25 | 266 |
| 46: | In The Pit. "Chant Of The Firemen." | This is the steamer's pit. | | 20 | 244 |
| 47: | In The Street. Lord - - . | You have done well, we say it. You are dead, | | 14 | 297 |
| 48: | In Trafalgar Square. | The stars shone faint through the smoky blue; | | 20 | 276 |
| 49: | Ireland. | O we have loved you through cold and rain | | 18 | 307 |
| 50: | Jesus. | Where is poor Jesus gone? | | 16 | 260 |
| 51: | Labour - Capital - Land. | In that rich archipelago of sea | | 18 | 283 |
| 52: | Liberty! | Liberty!" Is that the cry, then? | | 36 | 281 |
| 53: | Lord Leitrim. | My Lord, at last you have it! Now we know | | 7 | 265 |
| 54: | Mount Rennie. (The Time-Spirit speaks.) | Poor lads! And you for others' wrongs and sins | | 12 | 276 |
| 55: | Mount Rennie." {95} | Kill them! Yes, hang them all! | | 44 | 234 |
| 56: | Nationalism And M'Ilwraith! The Queensland Elections Cry, 1888. | Australia listened! Through the brawling game | | 28 | 266 |
| 57: | New Guinea "Converts." | I saw them as they were born, | | 32 | 237 |
| 58: | One Among So Many. | In a dark street she met and spoke to me, | | 49 | 302 |
| 59: | Parallels For The Pious. | He holds a pistol to my head, | | 16 | 293 |
| 60: | Pere-La-Chaise. {45} (Paris.) | I stood in Pere-la-Chaise. The putrid city, | | 16 | 270 |
| 61: | Prayer. | This is what I pray | | 12 | 263 |
| 62: | Proem. "Outside London." | In the black night, along the mud-deep roads, | | 18 | 283 |
| 63: | Song Of The Dispossessed. "To Jesus." | Be with us by day, by night, | | 20 | 335 |
| 64: | The Answer. | Men and boys, O fathers, brothers, | | 36 | 295 |
| 65: | The Australian Flag. | Pure blue flag of heaven | | 16 | 257 |
| 66: | The Caged Eagle. | I went the other day | | 16 | 269 |
| 67: | The Fisherman. (Mindanao, Philippines.) | In the dark waveless sea, | | 12 | 247 |
| 68: | The Man Of The Nation. | Yonder the band is playing | | 24 | 276 |
| 69: | The New Locksley Hall. "Forty Years After." | Comrade, yet a little further I would go before the night | | 121 | 260 |
| 70: | The Outcasts. (Melbourne.) | Here to the parks they come, | | 8 | 266 |
| 71: | The Peasants' Revolt. {35} | Thro' the mists of years, | | 40 | 307 |
| 72: | The Truth. | Come then, let us at least know what's the truth. | | 24 | 330 |
| 73: | To An Old Friend In England. "Esau." | Was it for nothing in the years gone by, | | 18 | 221 |
| 74: | To An Unionist. | If you only knew | | 49 | 250 |
| 75: | To Charles Parnell. | One thing we praise you for that is past praise - | | 14 | 251 |
| 76: | To E. L. Zox. {89} (Melbourne.) | We thank you for a noble work well done. | | 12 | 282 |
| 77: | To Edith. | My sweet, my child, through all this night | | 12 | 296 |
| 78: | To England. | There was a time when all thy sons were proud | | 74 | 274 |
| 79: | To Henry George In America. | Not for the thought that burns on keen and clear, | | 14 | 273 |
| 80: | To His Love. | Teach me, love, to be true; | | 12 | 261 |
| 81: | To India. | O India, India, O my lovely land - | | 14 | 287 |
| 82: | To Japan. | Simple you were, and good. No kindlier heart | | 14 | 266 |
| 83: | To John Ruskin. (After Reading His "Modern Painters.") | Yes, you do well to mock us, you | | 52 | 201 |
| 84: | To My Friend Sydney Jephcott, With A Copy Of My "Poetical Works." | Take with all my heart, friend, this, | | 10 | 242 |
| 85: | To Queen Victoria In England. An Address On Her Jubilee Year. | Madam, you have done well! Let others with praise unholy, | | 48 | 295 |
| 86: | To The Artists. | You tell me these great lords have raised up Art: | | 36 | 296 |
| 87: | To The Christians. | Take, then, your paltry Christ, | | 12 | 275 |
| 88: | To The Emperor William. | You are at least a man, of men a king. | | 14 | 257 |
| 89: | To The Emperor William. | Son of a Man and grandson of a Man, | | 14 | 275 |
| 90: | To The Girls Of The Unions. | Girls, we love you, and love | | 20 | 263 |
| 91: | To The Sons Of Labour. | Grave this deep in your hearts, | | 45 | 235 |
| 92: | Tyranny. (Melbourne.) | Tyranny'? Yes, that's it! | | 20 | 315 |
| 93: | Upstarts. | What? do you say that we, the toilers - the slaves - | | 12 | 283 |
| 94: | Victoria To James Moorhouse, {76} | He came, a stranger, and we gave him welcome | | 25 | 289 |
| 95: | Why! | Why is it we toil so | | 28 | 299 |
| 96: | William Wallace. | This is Scotch William Wallace. It was he | | 12 | 269 |
