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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374768" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Town</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">OUT of work and out of money—out of friends that means, you bet—<br>Out of firewood, togs and tucker, out of everything but debt—<br>And I loathe the barren pavements, and the crowds a fellow meets,<br>And the maddening repetition of the suffocating streets.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With their stinks my soul is tainted, and the tang is on my tongue<br>Of that sour and smoky suburb and the push we’re thrown among,<br>And I sicken at the corners polished free of paint and mirk<br>By the shoulders of the men who’re always hanging round for work.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Home—good Lord! a three-roomed hovel ’twixt a puddle and a drain,<br>In harmonious connection on the left with Liver Lane,<br>Where a crippled man is dying, and a horde of children fight,<br>And a woman in the horrors howls remorsefully at night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It has stables close behind it, and an ash-heap for a lawn,<br>And is furnished with the tickets of the things we have in pawn;<br>And all day the place is haunted by a melancholy crowd<br>Who beg everything or borrow, and to steal are not too proud.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through the day come weary women, too, with famine-haunted eyes,<br>Hawking things that are not wanted—things that no one ever buys.<br>And I hate the prying neighbours, in their animal content,<br>And the devilish persistence of the man who wants the rent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I, who cared for none, and faltered at no work a man might do,<br>Felt a fierce delight possess me when the trucks went surging through,<br>When the flood raced in the sluices, or the giant gums swung round<br>’Fore my axe, and flung their mighty limbs all mangled on the ground—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I who hewed and built and burrowed, and who asked no man to give<br>When a strong arm was excuse enough for venturing to live—<br>I am creeping by the gutters, with a simper and a smirk,<br>To the Fates in spats and toppers for the privilege of work.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far away the hills are all aflame; the blossom golden fair<br>Streams up the gladdened ranges, and its scent is everywhere,<br>And the kiddies of the settlers on the creek are red and sweet,<br>Whilst my youngsters have the sallowness and savour of the street.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To escape these endless vaults of brick, and pitch a tent out back,<br>If I get a chance I’ll graft until my very sinews crack.<br>Meanwhile may all the angels up in Paradise look down<br>On a man of sin who died not, but was damned and sent to town.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+George+Dyson">Edward George Dyson</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=374768" data-title="In Town de Edward George Dyson" data-description="OUT of work and out of money—out of friends that means, you bet—
Out of firewood, togs and tucker, out of everything but debt—
And I loathe the barren pavements, and the crowds a fellow meets,
And the maddening repetition of the suffocating ..."></div>
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