Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408700" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On the Wallaby</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead, <br>And the possums may gambol in trees overhead; <br>I am humping my bluey far out on the land, <br>And the prints of my bluchers sink deep in the sand: <br>I am out on the wallaby humping my drum, <br>And I came by the tracks where the sundowners come. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is nor'-west and west o'er the ranges and far <br>To the plains where the cattle and sheep stations are, <br>With the sky for my roof and the grass for my bunk, <br>And a calico bag for my damper and junk; <br>And scarcely a comrade my memory reveals, <br>Save the spiritless dingo in tow of my heels. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I think of the honest old light of my home <br>When the stars hang in clusters like lamps from the dome, <br>And I think of the hearth where the dark shadows fall, <br>When my camp fire is built on the widest of all; <br>But I'm following Fate, for I know she knows best, <br>I follow, she leads, and it's nor'-west by west. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When my tent is all torn and my blankets are damp, <br>And the rising flood waters flow fast by the camp, <br>When the cold water rises in jets from the floor, <br>I lie in my bunk and I list to the roar, <br>And I think how to-morrow my footsteps will lag <br>When I tramp 'neath the weight of a rain-sodden swag. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though the way of the swagman is mostly up-hill, <br>There are joys to be found on the wallaby still. <br>When the day has gone by with its tramp or its toil, <br>And your camp-fire you light, and your billy you boil, <br>There is comfort and peace in the bowl of your clay <br>Or the yarn of a mate who is tramping that way. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But beware of the town -- there is poison for years <br>In the pleasure you find in the depths of long beers; <br>For the bushman gets bushed in the streets of a town, <br>Where he loses his friends when his cheque is knocked down; <br>He is right till his pockets are empty, and then -- <br>He can hump his old bluey up country again.</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=408700" data-title="On the Wallaby de Henry Lawson" data-description="Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead, 
And the possums may gambol in trees overhead; 
I am humping my bluey far out on the land, 
And the prints of my bluchers sink deep in the sand: 
I am out on the wallaby humping my drum, 
An..."></div>
</div>
</div>