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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408605" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Do You Think That I Do Not Know?</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They say that I never have written of love, <br>As a writer of songs should do; <br>They say that I never could touch the strings <br>With a touch that is firm and true; <br>They say I know nothing of women and men <br>In the fields where Love's roses grow, <br>And they say I must write with a halting pen <br>Do you think that I do not know? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the love-burst came, like an English Spring, <br>In days when our hair was brown, <br>And the hem of her skirt was a sacred thing <br>And her hair was an angel's crown. <br>The shock when another man touched her arm, <br>Where the dancers sat round in a row; <br>The hope and despair, and the false alarm <br>Do you think that I do not know? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">By the arbour lights on the western farms, <br>You remember the question put, <br>While you held her warm in your quivering arms <br>And you trembled from head to foot. <br>The electric shock from her finger tips, <br>And the murmuring answer low, <br>The soft, shy yielding of warm red lips <br>Do you think that I do not know? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was buried at Brighton, where Gordon sleeps, <br>When I was a world away; <br>And the sad old garden its secret keeps, <br>For nobody knows to-day. <br>She left a message for me to read, <br>Where the wild wide oceans flow; <br>Do you know how the heart of a man can bleed <br>Do you think that I do not know? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I stood by the grave where the dead girl lies, <br>When the sunlit scenes were fair, <br>And the white clouds high in the autumn skies, <br>And I answered the message there. <br>But the haunting words of the dead to me <br>Shall go wherever I go. <br>She lives in the Marriage that Might Have Been <br>Do you think that I do not know? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They sneer or scoff, and they pray or groan, <br>And the false friend plays his part. <br>Do you think that the blackguard who drinks alone <br>Knows aught of a pure girl's heart? <br>Knows aught of the first pure love of a boy <br>With his warm young blood aglow, <br>Knows aught of the thrill of the world-old joy <br>Do you think that I do not know? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They say that I never have written of love, <br>They say that my heart is such <br>That finer feelings are far above; <br>But a writer may know too much. <br>There are darkest depths in the brightest nights, <br>When the clustering stars hang low; <br>There are things it would break his strong heart to write <br>Do you think that I do not know?</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=408605" data-title="Do You Think That I Do Not Know? de Henry Lawson" data-description="They say that I never have written of love, 
As a writer of songs should do; 
They say that I never could touch the strings 
With a touch that is firm and true; 
They say I know nothing of women and men 
In the fields where Love's roses grow, 
And..."></div>
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