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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408799" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Cockney Soul</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From Woolwich and Brentford and Stamford Hill, from Richmond into the Strand, <br>Oh, the Cockney soul is a silent soul – as it is in every land! <br>But out on the sand with a broken band it's sarcasm spurs them through; <br>And, with never a laugh, in a gale and a half, 'tis the Cockney cheers the crew. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, send them a tune from the music-halls with a chorus to shake the sky! <br>Oh, give them a deep-sea chanty now – and a star to steer them by! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now this is a song of the great untrained, a song of the Unprepared, <br>Who had never the brains to plead unfit, or think of the things they dared; <br>Of the grocer-souled and the draper-souled, and the clerks of the four o'clock, <br>Who stood for London and died for home in the nineteen-fourteen shock. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, this is a pork-shop warrior's chant – come back from it, maimed and blind, <br>To a little old counter in Grey's Inn-road and a tiny parlour behind; <br>And the bedroom above, where the wife and he go silently mourning yet <br>For a son-in-law who shall never come back and a dead son's room &quot;To Let&quot;. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(But they have a boy &quot;in the fried-fish line&quot; in a shop across the &quot;wye&quot;, <br>Who will take them &quot;aht&quot; and &quot;abaht&quot; to-night and cheer their old eyes dry.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is a song of the draper's clerk (what have you all to say?) – <br>He'd a tall top-hat and a walking-coat in the city every day – <br>He wears no flesh on his broken bones that lie in the shell-churned loam; <br>For he went over the top and struck with his cheating yard-wand – home. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Oh, touch your hat to the tailor-made before you are aware, <br>And lilt us a lay of Bank-holiday and the lights of Leicester-square!) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hats off to the dowager lady at home in her house in Russell-square! <br>Like the pork-shop back and the Brixton flat, they are silently mourning there; <br>For one lay out ahead of the rest in the slush 'neath a darkening sky, <br>With the blood of a hundred earls congealed and his eye-glass to his eye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(He gave me a cheque in an envelope on a distant gloomy day; <br>He gave me his hand at the mansion door and he said: &quot;Good-luck! Good-bai!&quot;)</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=408799" data-title="The Cockney Soul de Henry Lawson" data-description="From Woolwich and Brentford and Stamford Hill, from Richmond into the Strand, 
Oh, the Cockney soul is a silent soul – as it is in every land! 
But out on the sand with a broken band it's sarcasm spurs them through; 
And, with never a laugh, in ..."></div>
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