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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408808" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Drover's Sweetheart</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">An hour before the sun goes down <br> Behind the ragged boughs, <br>I go across the little run <br> And bring the dusty cows; <br>And once I used to sit and rest <br> Beneath the fading dome, <br>For there was one that I loved best <br> Who'd bring the cattle home. <br> <br>Our yard is fixed with double bails, <br> Round one the grass is green, <br>The bush is growing through the rails, <br> The spike is rusted in; <br>And 'twas from there his freckled face <br> Would turn and smile at me -- <br>He'd milk a dozen in the race <br> While I was milking three. <br> <br>I milk eleven cows myself <br> Where once I milked but four; <br>I set the dishes on the shelf <br> And close the dairy door; <br>And when the glaring sunlight fails <br> And the fire shines through the cracks, <br>I climb the broken stockyard rails <br> And watch the bridle-tracks. <br> <br>He kissed me twice and once again <br> And rode across the hill, <br>The pint-pots and the hobble-chain <br> I hear them jingling still; <br>He'll come at night or not at all -- <br> He left in dust and heat, <br>And when the soft, cool shadows fall <br> Is the best time to meet. <br> <br>And he is coming back again, <br> He wrote to let me know, <br>The floods were in the Darling then -- <br> It seems so long ago; <br>He'd come through miles of slush and mud, <br> And it was weary work, <br>The creeks were bankers, and the flood <br> Was forty miles round Bourke. <br> <br>He said the floods had formed a block, <br> The plains could not be crossed, <br>And there was foot-rot in the flock <br> And hundreds had been lost; <br>The sheep were falling thick and fast <br> A hundred miles from town, <br>And when he reached the line at last <br> He trucked the remnant down. <br> <br>And so he'll have to stand the cost; <br> His luck was always bad, <br>Instead of making more, he lost <br> The money that he had; <br>And how he'll manage, heaven knows <br> (My eyes are getting dim), <br>He says -- he says -- he don't -- suppose <br> I'll want -- to -- marry -- him. <br> <br>As if I wouldn't take his hand <br> Without a golden glove -- <br>Oh! Jack, you men won't understand <br> How much a girl can love. <br>I long to see his face once more -- <br> Jack's dog! thank God, it's Jack! -- <br>(I never thought I'd faint before) <br> He's coming -- up -- the track.</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=408808" data-title="The Drover's Sweetheart de Henry Lawson" data-description="An hour before the sun goes down 
 Behind the ragged boughs, 
I go across the little run 
 And bring the dusty cows; 
And once I used to sit and rest 
 Beneath the fading dome, 
For there was one that I loved best 
 Who'd bring the cattle home. 
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