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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408682" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My Land and I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They have eaten their fill at your tables spread, <br>Like friends since the land was won; <br>And they rise with a cry of &quot;Australia's dead!&quot; <br>With the wheeze of &quot;Australia's done!&quot; <br>Oh, the theme is stale, but they tell the tale <br>(How the weak old tale will keep!) <br>Like the crows that croak on a splintered rail, <br>That have gorged on a rotten sheep. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I would sing a song in your darkest hour <br>In your darkest hour and mine – <br>For I see the dawn of your wealth and power, <br>And I see your bright star shine. <br>The little men yelp and the little men lie, <br>And they spread the lies afar; <br>But we heed them never, my Land and I, <br>For we know how small they are. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They know you not in a paltry town – <br>In the streets where great hopes die – <br>Oh, heart that never a flood could drown, <br>And never a drought could dry! <br>Stand forth from the rim where the red sun dips, <br>Strong son of the land's own son – <br>With the grin of grit on your drought-chapped lips <br>And say, is your country done? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stand forth from the land where the sunset dies, <br>By the desolate lonely shed, <br>With the smile of faith in your blighted eyes, <br>And say, is your country dead? <br>They see no future, they know no past – <br>The parasite cur and clown, <br>Who talk of ruin and death to last <br>When a man or a land is down. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">God sends for answer the rain, the rain, <br>And away on the western lease, <br>The limitless plain grows green again, <br>And the fattening stock increase. <br>We'll lock your rivers, my land, my land, <br>Dig lakes on the furthest run – <br>While down in the corners where houses stand, <br>They drivel, &quot;Australia's done!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The parasites dine at your tables spread <br>(As my enemies did at mine), <br>And they croak and gurgle, &quot;Australia's dead&quot; <br>While they guzzle Australian wine. <br>But we heed them never, my land, my land, <br>For we know how small they are, <br>And we see the signs of a future grand, <br>As we gaze on a rising star.</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=408682" data-title="My Land and I de Henry Lawson" data-description="They have eaten their fill at your tables spread, 
Like friends since the land was won; 
And they rise with a cry of &quot;Australia's dead!&quot; 
With the wheeze of &quot;Australia's done!&quot; 
Oh, the theme is stale, but they tell the tale 
(..."></div>
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