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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350483" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>From The Far West</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis a song of the Never Never land— <br>Set to the tune of a scorching gale <br>On the sandhills red, <br>When the grasses dead <br>Loudly rustle, and bow the head <br>To the breath of its dusty hail: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where the cattle trample a dusty pad <br>Across the never-ending plain, <br>And come and go <br>With muttering low <br>In the time when the rivers cease to flow, <br>And the Drought King holds his reign; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the fiercest piker who ever turned <br>With lowered head in defiance proud, <br>Grown gaunt and weak, <br>Release doth seek <br>In vain from the depths of the slimy creek— <br>His sepulchre and his shroud; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">His requiem sung by an insect host, <br>Born of the pestilential air, <br>That seethe and swarm <br>In hideous form <br>Where the stagnant waters lie thick and warm, <br>And Fever lurks in his lair: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where a placid, thirst-provoking lake <br>Clear in the flashing sunlight lies— <br>But the stockman knows <br>No water flows <br>Where the shifting mirage comes and goes <br>Like a spectral paradise; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, crouched in the saltbush' sickly shade, <br>Murmurs to Heaven a piteous prayer: <br>‘O God! must I <br>Prepare to die?' <br>And, gazing up at the brazen sky, <br>Reads his death-warrant there. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gaunt, slinking dingoes snap and snarl, <br>Watching his slowly-ebbing breath; <br>Crows are flying, <br>Hoarsely crying <br>Burial service o'er the dying— <br>Foul harbingers of Death. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full many a man has perished there, <br>Whose bones gleam white from the waste of sand— <br>Who left no name <br>On the scroll of Fame, <br>Yet died in his tracks, as well became <br>A son of that desert land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Barcroft+Henry+Thomas+Boake">Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350483" data-title="From The Far West de Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake" data-description="'Tis a song of the Never Never land— 
Set to the tune of a scorching gale 
On the sandhills red, 
When the grasses dead 
Loudly rustle, and bow the head 
To the breath of its dusty hail: 

Where the cattle trample a dusty pad 
Across the never-e..."></div>
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