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Henry Lawson

A Backward Glance

IT IS well when you’ve lived in clover,
To mourn for the days gone by—
Would I live the same life over
Could I live again? Not I!
But, knowing the false from the real,
I would strive to ascend:
I would seek out my boyhood’s ideal,
And follow it to the end.

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Shearer’s Song

The season is over;
The shearing is done;
The wages are paid; and
The ‘sprees’ have begun.
But never a shanty
Gets sight of my cheques;
For far down the Murray
My Annie expects
A heart that is faithful,
A head that is clear,
And sufficient provisions
To last for a year.

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Laughing and Sneering

WHAT tho' the world does me ill turns
And cares my life environ;
I’d sooner laugh with Bobbie Burns
Than sneer with titl'd Byron.

The smile has always been the best;
’Tis stronger than the frown, sirs:
And Venus smiled the waves to rest;
She didn’t sneer them down, sirs.

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To Tom Bracken

O had you tracked where Kendall* trod
I think you would be kneelin’
Three times a week and thankin’ God
That you are of New Zealan’!
For this I’ll say, to make it short,
An’ keep my tongue from clacken—
The people are a kinder sort
You’re singin’ for, Tom Bracken.

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Sweethearts Wait on Every Shore

SHE SITS beside the tinted tide,
That’s reddened by the tortured sand;
And through the East, to ocean wide,
A vessel sails from sight of land.

But she will wait and watch in vain,
For it is said in Cupid’s lore,
“That he who loved will love again,
And sweethearts wait on every shore.”

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Unwritten Books

It always seems the same old story –
No matter what grand heights are won –
We die with out best work unwritten,
We die with out best work undone.

Unwritten books, unpainted pictures
In millions are, beneath the sun.
We die, with our great thoughts unpublished,
We die with our best work undone.

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When Hopes Ran High

When hopes ran high the world was young,
We thought that we would never die,
And glorious were the songs we sung
In those grand days when hopes ran high.

When hopes ran high the world was true
We thought that friends could never lie—
There have been bitter truths for you
And me, since days when hopes ran high.

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To Roumania

Rifles of the Rear Guard,
Rattling through the rain,
Falling back and falling back
To make a stand again –
Rifles of the Rear Guard,
Shall you die in vain?

Rifles of the Rear Guard.
In the cold and wet;
Rifles of the Rear Guard,
We’re coming – do not fret!
The rifles of the Rear Guard
Shall be the Vanguard yet.

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His Brother’s Keeper

By his paths through the parched desolation,
Hot rides and the terrible tramps;
By the hunger, the thirst, the privation
Of his work in the further most camps.

By his worth in the light that shall search men
And prove – ay! And justify each –
I place him in front of all churchmen
Who feel not, who know not – but preach!

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Ned’s Delicate Way

Ned knew I was short of tobacco one day,
And that I was too proud to ask for it;
He hated such pride, but his delicate way
Forbade him to take me to task for it.

I loathed to be cadging tobacco from Ned,
But, when I was just on the brink of it;
‘I’ve got a new brand of tobacco”, he said –
“Try a smoke, and let’s know what you think of it.”

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