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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408578" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Borderland</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am back from up the country -- very sorry that I went -- <br>Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent; <br>I have lost a lot of idols, which were broken on the track -- <br>Burnt a lot of fancy verses, and I'm glad that I am back. <br>Further out may be the pleasant scenes of which our poets boast, <br>But I think the country's rather more inviting round the coast -- <br>Anyway, I'll stay at present at a boarding-house in town <br>Drinking beer and lemon-squashes, taking baths and cooling down. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sunny plains! Great Scot! -- those burning wastes of barren soil and sand <br>With their everlasting fences stretching out across the land! <br>Desolation where the crow is! Desert! where the eagle flies, <br>Paddocks where the luny bullock starts and stares with reddened eyes; <br>Where, in clouds of dust enveloped, roasted bullock-drivers creep <br>Slowly past the sun-dried shepherd dragged behind his crawling sheep. <br>Stunted &quot;peak&quot; of granite gleaming, glaring! like a molten mass <br>Turned, from some infernal furnace, on a plain devoid of grass. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Miles and miles of thirsty gutters -- strings of muddy waterholes <br>In the place of &quot;shining rivers&quot; (walled by cliffs and forest boles). <br>&quot;Range!&quot; of ridgs, gullies, ridges, barren! where the madden'd flies -- <br>Fiercer than the plagues of Egypt -- swarm about your blighted eyes! <br>Bush! where there is no horizon! where the buried bushman sees <br>Nothing. Nothing! but the maddening sameness of the stunted trees! <br>Lonely hut where drought's eternal -- suffocating atmosphere -- <br>Where the God forgottcn hatter dreams of city-life and beer. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Treacherous tracks that trap the stranger, endless roads that gleam and glare, <br>Dark and evil-looking gullies -- hiding secrets here and there! <br>Dull, dumb flats and stony &quot;rises,&quot; where the bullocks sweat and bake, <br>And the sinister &quot;gohanna,&quot; and the lizard, and the snake. <br>Land of day and night -- no morning freshness, and no afternoon, <br>For the great, white sun in rising brings with him the heat of noon. <br>Dismal country for the exile, when the shades begin to fall <br>From the sad, heart-breaking sunset, to the new-chum, worst of all. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dreary land in rainy weather, with the endless clouds that drift <br>O'er the bushman like a blanket that the Lord will never lift -- <br>Dismal land when it is raining -- growl of floods and oh! the &quot;woosh&quot; <br>Of the rain and wind together on the dark bed of the bush -- <br>Ghastly fires in lonely humpies where the granite rocks are pil'd <br>On the rain-swept wildernesses that are wildest of the wild. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Land where gaunt and haggard women live alone and work like men, <br>Till their husbands, gone a-droving, will return to them again -- <br>Homes of men! if homes had ever such a God-forgotten place, <br>Where the wild selector's children fly before a stranger's face. <br>Home of tragedy applauded by the dingoes' dismal yell, <br>Heaven of the shanty-keeper -- fitting fiend for such a hell -- <br>And the wallaroos and wombats, and, of course, the &quot;curlew's call&quot; -- <br>And the lone sundowner tramping ever onward thro' it all! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am back from up the country -- up the country where I went <br>Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent; <br>I have left a lot of broken idols out along the track, <br>Burnt a lot of fancy verses -- and I'm glad that I am back -- <br>I believe the Southern poet's dream will not be realised <br>Till the plains are irrigated and the land is humanised. <br>I intend to stay at present -- as I said before -- in town <br>Drinking beer and lemon-squashes -- taking baths and cooling down.</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>
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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=408578" data-title="Borderland de Henry Lawson" data-description="I am back from up the country -- very sorry that I went -- 
Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent; 
I have lost a lot of idols, which were broken on the track -- 
Burnt a lot of fancy verses, and I'm glad that I am back. 
F..."></div>
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