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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374787" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Stop-And-See</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’M STEWING in a brick-built town;<br>My coat is quite a stylish cut,<br>And, morn and even, up and down,<br>I travel in a common rut;<br>But as the city sounds recede,<br>In dreamy moods I sometimes see<br>A vision of a busy lead,<br>And hear its voices calling me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My flaccid muscles seem to tweak<br>To feel the windlass pall and strain,<br>To shake the cradle by the creek,<br>And puddle at the ‘tom’ again.<br>I’d gladly sling this musty shop<br>To see the sluicing waters flow—<br>A pile of tucker, dirt on top,<br>And simply Lord knows what below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Twas lightly left, ’tis lately mourned,<br>The tent life up at Stop-and-See,<br>When shirts with yellow clay adorned<br>Were badges of nobility,<br>When Sunday’s best was Monday’s wear,<br>And Bennett gave us verse and book—<br>Poor Dick! a crude philosopher,<br>But, bless his heart, a clever cook.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An easy life we lived and free;<br>The wash was only ten-weight stuff,<br>The ‘bottom’ dry and soft at knee—<br>With Hope to help us ’twas enough.<br>Then none could say us ay or nay<br>Did we agree to slave or smoke;<br>The pan was ready with the pay<br>E’en though the graft was half in joke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Twas good when ‘spell-oh!’ had been said,<br>To watch the white smoke curl and cling<br>Against the gravel roof o’erhead,<br>The candles dimly flickering<br>And circled with a yellow glow—<br>To sprawl upon the broken reef,<br>And pensively to pull and blow<br>The fragrant incense from the leaf.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And where the creek ran by our tent,<br>Or lingered through embowered ponds,<br>In dusky nooks that held a scent<br>Of musk amid the drooping fronds,<br>It was a pleasant task to lay<br>The dish within the stream, and there<br>To puddle off the pug and clay,<br>And pan the gleaming prospect bare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oft in the strange deceit of dreams,<br>I swirl the old tin-dish again,<br>And Wondee’s rippling water seems<br>To cool my weary limbs as then;<br>And down the hill-side bare and dry<br>A digger’s chorus faintly comes,<br>And mingles with the lullaby<br>Of locusts in the drowsy gums.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The barrels rattle on their stands,<br>And in the shaft the nail-kegs swing.<br>The short, sharp strokes of practised hands<br>Are making pick and anvil ring.<br>I hear the splitter’s measured blow,<br>The distant knocker rise and drop,<br>The cheery cry, ‘Look up, below!’<br>The muffled call of ‘Heave, on top!’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No piles were made at Stop-and-See,<br>No nuggets found of giant size,<br>But, looking back, it seems to me<br>That all who laboured there were wise.<br>For there was freedom void of pride,<br>There hate of forms and shallow arts,<br>And there were friendships all too wide<br>For narrow streets and narrow hearts.</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=374787" data-title="Stop-And-See de Edward George Dyson" data-description="I’M STEWING in a brick-built town;
My coat is quite a stylish cut,
And, morn and even, up and down,
I travel in a common rut;
But as the city sounds recede,
In dreamy moods I sometimes see
A vision of a busy lead,
And hear its voices calling me...."></div>
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