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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408754" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sydney-Side</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where's the steward?—Bar-room steward? Berth? Oh, any berth will do—<br>I have left a three-pound billet just to come along with you.<br>Brighter shines the Star of Rovers on a world that’s growing wide,<br>But I think I’d give a kingdom for a glimpse of Sydney-Side. <br>Run of rocky shelves at sunrise, with their base on ocean’s bed;<br>Homes of Coogee, homes of Bondi, and the lighthouse on South Head.<br>For in loneliness and hardship—and with just a touch of pride—<br>Has my heart been taught to whisper, ‘You belong to Sydney-Side.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, there never dawned a morning, in the long and lonely days,<br>But I thought I saw the ferries streaming out across the bays—<br>And as fresh and fair in fancy did the picture rise again<br>As the sunrise flushed the city from Woollahra to Balmain: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the sunny water frothing round the liners black and red,<br>And the coastal schooners working by the loom of Bradley’s Head;<br>And the whistles and the sirens that re-echo far and wide—<br>All the life and light and beauty that belong to Sydney-Side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the dreary cloud-line never veiled the end of one day more,<br>But the city set in jewels rose before me from ‘The Shore.’<br>Round the sea-world shine the beacons of a thousand ports o’ call,<br>But the harbour-lights of Sydney are the grandest of them all! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Toiling out beyond Coolgardie—heart and back and spirit broke,<br>Where the Rover’s Star gleams redly in the desert by the ‘soak’—<br>But says one mate to the other, ‘Brace your lip and do not fret,<br>We will laugh on trains and ’buses—Sydney’s in the same place yet.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Working in the South in winter, to the waist in dripping fern,<br>Where the local spirit hungers for each ‘saxpence’ that we earn—<br>We can stand it for a season, for our world is growing wide,<br>And they all are friends and strangers who belong to Sydney-Side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘T’other-siders! T’other-siders!’ Yet we wake the dusty dead;<br>It is we that send the backward province fifty years ahead;<br>We it is that ‘trim’ Australia—making narrow country wide—<br>Yet we’re always T’other-siders till we sail for Sydney-side.</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=408754" data-title="Sydney-Side de Henry Lawson" data-description="Where's the steward?—Bar-room steward? Berth? Oh, any berth will do—
I have left a three-pound billet just to come along with you.
Brighter shines the Star of Rovers on a world that’s growing wide,
But I think I’d give a kingdom for a glim..."></div>
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