Henry Lawson: Всі вірші поета

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Do You Think That I Do Not Know?

They say that I never have written of love,

As a writer of songs should do;

They say that I never could touch the strings

With a touch that is firm and true;

They say I know nothing of women and men

In the fields where Love's roses grow,

And they say I must write with a halting pen

Do you think that I do not know?

by Henry Lawson

The Good Samaritan

He comes from out the ages dim—

The good Samaritan;

I somehow never pictured him

A fat and jolly man;

But one who’d little joy to glean,

And little coin to give—

A sad-faced man, and lank and lean,

Who found it hard to live.

by Henry Lawson

The Ballad of the Elder Son

A son of elder sons I am,

Whose boyhood days were cramped and scant,

Through ages of domestic sham

And family lies and family cant.

Come, elder brothers mine, and bring

Dull loads of care that you have won,

And gather round me while I sing

The ballad of the elder son.

by Henry Lawson

Andy's Gone With Cattle

Our Andy's gone to battle now

'Gainst Drought, the red marauder;

Our Andy's gone with cattle now

Across the Queensland border.

He's left us in dejection now;

Our hearts with him are roving.

It's dull on this selection now,

by Henry Lawson

In The Days When The World Was Wide

The world is narrow and ways are short, and our lives are dull and slow,

For little is new where the crowds resort, and less where the wanderers go;

Greater, or smaller, the same old things we see by the dull road-side —

And tired of all is the spirit that sings

of the days when the world was wide.

When the North was hale in the march of Time,

and the South and the West were new,

by Henry Lawson

The Outside Track

There were ten of us there on the moonlit quay,

And one on the for’ard hatch;

No straighter mate to his mates than he

Had ever said: ‘Len’s a match!’

"’Twill be long, old man, ere our glasses clink,

’Twill be long ere we grip your hand!"—

And we dragged him ashore for a final drink

Till the whole wide world seemed grand.

by Henry Lawson

Faces In The Street

They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone

That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown;

For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet

My window-sill is level with the faces in the street —

Drifting past, drifting past,

To the beat of weary feet —

While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.

And cause I have to sorrow, in a land so young and fair,

by Henry Lawson

Ballad Of The Drover

Across the stony ridges,

Across the rolling plain,

Young Harry Dale, the drover,

Comes riding home again.

And well his stock-horse bears him,

And light of heart is he,

And stoutly his old pack-horse

Is trotting by his knee.

by Henry Lawson

A Mate can do no Wrong

We learnt the creed at Hungerford,

We learnt the creed at Bourke;

We learnt it in the good times

And learnt it out of work.

We learnt it by the harbour-side

And on the billabong:

"No matter what a mate may do,

A mate can do no wrong!"

by Henry Lawson

The Man from Waterloo (With kind Regards to Banjo)

It was the Man from Waterloo,

When work in town was slack,

Who took the track as bushmen do,

And humped his swag out back.

He tramped for months without a bob,

For most the sheds were full,

Until at last he got a job

At picking up the wool.

by Henry Lawson

The Boss Over the Board

When he’s over a rough and unpopular shed,

With the sins of the bank and the men on his head;

When he musn’t look black or indulge in a grin,

And thirty or forty men hate him like Sin—

I am moved to admit—when the total is scored—

That it’s just a bit off for the Boss-of -the-board.

I have battled a lot,

But my dream’s never soared

by Henry Lawson

To An Old Mate

Old Mate! In the gusty old weather,

When our hopes and our troubles were new,

In the years spent in wearing out leather,

I found you unselfish and true —

I have gathered these verses together

For the sake of our friendship and you.

You may think for awhile, and with reason,

by Henry Lawson