<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408567" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Beaten Back</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">BEATEN back in sad dejection,<br>After years of weary toil<br>On that burning hot selection<br>Where the drought has gorged his spoil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All in vain ’gainst him, the vulture,<br>I have battled without rest—<br>In the van of agriculture,<br>Marching out into the West.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now the eagle-hawks are feeding<br>On my perished stock that reek<br>Where the water-holes receding<br>Long had left the burning creek.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I must labour without pity—<br>I the pick and spade must wield<br>In the streetways of the city<br>Or upon another’s field!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Can it be my reason’s rocking,<br>For I feel a burning hate<br>For the God who, only mocking,<br>Sent the prayed-for rain too late?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pour, ye mocking rains, and rattle<br>On the bare, brown, grassless plain,<br>On the shrivelled hides of cattle<br>That shall ne’er want grass again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rush, ye yellow floods, to Murray,<br>Over thirsty creek-banks foam;<br>And o’er all, ye black clouds, hurry;<br>Ye can bring not back my home!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=408567" data-title="Beaten Back de Henry Lawson" data-description="BEATEN back in sad dejection, After years of weary toil On that burning hot selection Where the drought has gorged his spoil. All in vain ’gainst him, the vulture, I have battled without rest— In the van of agriculture, Marching out into the ..."></div> </div> </div>

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