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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350497" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Babes In The Bush</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dozens of damp little curls; <br>One little short upper lip; <br>Two rows of teeth like diminutive pearls; <br>Eyes clear and grey as the creek where it swirls <br>Over the ledges—that's Tip! <br>With a skip!— <br>A perfectly hopeless young nip! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Smudge on the tip of his nose; <br>Mischievous glance of a Puck; <br>Heart just as big as the rents in his clothes; <br>Lungs like a locust and cheeks like a rose;— <br>Total it!—there you have Tuck! <br>And bad luck <br>To the man who would question his pluck! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">School is all over at last— <br>School with its pothooks and strokes: <br>Homeward they toddle, but who could go fast?— <br>So many wonderful things to be passed— <br>Froggie, for instance, who croaks <br>'Neath the oaks <br>By the creek where the watercress soaks. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sandpipers dance on the bars; <br>Swallows, white-throated and fleet, <br>Dip thirsty beaks in the stream as they pass; <br>Smooth water-beetles that twinkle like stars <br>Watch the gay dragon-flies greet. <br>Hark how sweet <br>Is the pipe of the tiny pee-weet! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Near, too, the earth is all torn: <br>Strong, willing workers have thrown <br>Great heaps of tailings, smooth-polished and worn, <br>Round the mysterious caverns that yawn— <br>Stacks of the snowy quartz stone, <br>Grass-grown <br>Piles of the Earth's dry bone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Grasshoppers chirp on the brace; <br>Briars drop berries blood-red <br>Into the mouldering void of the race; <br>Green mosses flourish on cutting and face; <br>Children speak softly, with dread, <br>When they tread <br>In this desolate place of the dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Tum on!' said Tip, ‘here's a nest!' <br>Looking behind as he ran. <br>‘No,' said his brother, expanding his chest, <br>‘I like to play at pro'pectin' the best'— <br>Thumping a rusty old pan; <br>Then began <br>To wash up a dish like a man. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Tum on! here's four little eggs! <br>Do tum!'—he whimpers his lip: <br>A-tremble his eyes, wet by tears as he begs, <br>And sharp briars are scratching his legs. <br>A branch strikes his face like a whip; <br>Then a slip— <br>And a shaft swallows poor little Tip! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Peering and catching his breath, <br>Tuck felt his little heart swell: <br>Nothing at all could he see underneath— <br>P'r'aps poor old Tippy had gone to his death— <br>Would it hurt him if he fell? <br>Who could tell <br>The depth of that horrible well? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Tippy! oh, Tip! are you dead?' . . . <br>Never a sound or a sigh! <br>Tuck held his breath, his heart heavy as lead: <br>Then: ‘Tuck! where are you? I've hurted my head!' <br>Came up the quav'ring reply; <br>And a cry: <br>‘Oh, Tuck! don't go 'way, or I'll die! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Tuck! it's so dark; I'm afraid!' . . . <br>He drew down his eyebrows and frowned <br>Up the creek, down the creek, somewhat dismayed. <br>Miles to go home; but, again, if he stayed, <br>How would they ever be found Underground <br>In that cavern that swallowed all sound? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Tuck, I'm all covered with blood!<br>Sobbed the small voice without cess. <br>‘Why don't you help me up out of the mud?' <br>Tuck foraged out a long length of pine wood; <br>Stripped off his little print dress, <br>And—just guess! <br>Rigged a white flag of distress! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Truly the depth was not great— <br>That, though, the babe did not know; <br>Lowering himself till the whole of his weight <br>Hung on the fingers that clutched the blue slate . . . <br>‘Please God!' . . . he let himself go; <br>And I trow <br>That angel hands caught him below. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Never a scratch or a mark! <br>No, and not even a tear! <br>Little hands feeling their way through the dark . . . <br>What if that other should be stiff and stark? <br>‘Here I am, Tippy! quite near— <br>Oh, dear!' <br>Then came the answer: ‘I'm here!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Crouched in the mouth of a drive, <br>Tippy sobbed out his delight— <br>Not so much hurt, after all—quite alive: <br>Almost convinced that no harm could arrive <br>Now that Tuck's arms clasped him tight. <br>Then the light <br>Died slowly, and lo! it was Night. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Above—the flag blows to the air: <br>Sad parents seek vainly and weep: <br>There are lights 'mid the thistles, and cries of despair: <br>A rifle cracks loudly, and bonfires glare . . . <br>Below—where the blind creatures creep, <br>Hidden deep, <br>Two pretty babes smile in their sleep.</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=350497" data-title="The Babes In The Bush de Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake" data-description="Dozens of damp little curls; 
One little short upper lip; 
Two rows of teeth like diminutive pearls; 
Eyes clear and grey as the creek where it swirls 
Over the ledges—that's Tip! 
With a skip!— 
A perfectly hopeless young nip! 

Smudge on the..."></div>
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