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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hannah Thomburn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They lifted her out of a story<br>Too sordid and selfish by far,<br>They left me the innocent glory<br>Of love that was pure as a star;<br>They left me all guiltless of “evil”<br>That would have brought years of distress<br>When the chance to be man, god or devil,<br>Was mine, on return from Success.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>With a name and a courage uncommon<br>She had come in the soul striving days,<br>She had come as a child, girl and woman—<br>Come only to comfort and praise.<br>There was never a church that could marry,<br>For never a court could divorce,<br>In the season of Hannah and Harry<br>When the love of my life ran its course.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her hair was red gold on head Grecian,<br>But fluffed from the parting away,<br>And her eyes were the warm grey Venetian<br>That comes with the dawn of the day.<br>No Fashion nor Fad could entrap her,<br>And a simple print work dress wore she,<br>But her long limbs were formed for the “wrapper”<br>And her fair arms were meant to be free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Oh, I knew by the thrill of pure passion<br>At the touch of her elbow, or hand—<br>By the wife’s loveless eyes that would flash on<br>The feeling I could not command.<br>Oh, I knew when revulsion came rushing—<br>Oh, I knew by the brush strokes that hurt<br>At the sight of a sculptor friend brushing<br>The clay from the hem of her skirt.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was mine on return from succeeding<br>In a struggle that no one shall know;<br>She only knew my heart was bleeding,<br>She only knew what dealt the blow.<br>I had fought back the friends that were clutching,<br>I had forced back the heart-scalding tears<br>Just to lay my hot head to her touching<br>And to weep for Two Terrible Years.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! the hand on my hair that was greying!<br>Oh! the kiss on my brow that was lined!<br>Oh! the peace when my reason was straying<br>And the rest and relief for my mind.<br>Till, no longer world shackled or frightened,<br>The voice of the past would be stilled,<br>Hearts quickened, cheeks flushed and eyes brightened,<br>And the love of our lives be fulfilled!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was Antwerp, and Plymouth—th’ Atlantic<br>And, so well had Love’s network been laid,<br>That I heard of her illness, grown frantic,<br>At Genoa, Naples—Port Said.<br>I was mad just to reach her and “tell her”,<br>But a sandbank at Suez tripped me,<br>And we limped, with a crippled propeller,<br>Through all Hades adown the Red Sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through the monsoon we rolled like a Jumbo<br>With a second blade shaken away,<br>There was never a dock in Colombo<br>So the captain drank hard to Bombay.<br>Then a “point” in the south like an anthill<br>Or seawastes—then hove into sight—<br>I called for no news at Fremantle<br>For I wanted to hope through the Bight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There’s a gentleman, reading, shall know it,<br>There’s an earl who will now understand<br>Why I “slighted” the son of their poet<br>(And a vice regal lord of the land)—<br>Semaphore—and a burst through the wicket<br>On platform left guards in distress—<br>A run without luggage or ticket,<br>A cab, and the Melbourne Express.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Twas a brother-in-grief of mine told me<br>With harsh eyes unwontedly dim,<br>With a hand on my shoulder to hold me<br>And a grip on my own—to hold him.<br>A dry choke, and words cracked and hurried,<br>A stare, as of something afraid,<br>And he told me that Hannah was buried<br>On the day I reached Port Adelaide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They could greet me—let Heaven or Hell come,<br>They could weep—for the grave by the sea<br>Oh! the mother and father could welcome<br>And the kinsfolk without fear of me.<br>For they watched her safe out of a story<br>Where she slaved and suffered alone—<br>They could weep to the tune of the hoary<br>Old lie “If we only had known”.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I have the letter that followed<br>That she wrote to England and me—<br>That crossed us perchance as we wallowed<br>That birthday of mine on the sea,<br>That she wrote on the eve of her going,<br>Hopeful and loving and brave,<br>To keep me there, prosperous, knowing,<br>No care save the far away grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They have lifted her out of a story<br>Too sordid and selfish by far,<br>And left me the innocent glory<br>Of love that was pure as a star:<br>That was human and strong though she hid it<br>To write before death in last lines—<br>And I kneel to the angels who did it<br>And I bow to the fate that refines.</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=408631" data-title="Hannah Thomburn de Henry Lawson" data-description="They lifted her out of a story
Too sordid and selfish by far,
They left me the innocent glory
Of love that was pure as a star;
They left me all guiltless of “evil”
That would have brought years of distress
When the chance to be man, god or dev..."></div>
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