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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408874" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Mountain Splitter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He works in the glen where the waratah grows,<br>And the gums and the ashes are tall,<br>’Neath cliffs that re-echo the sound of his blows<br>When the wedges leap in from the mawl.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He comes of a hardy old immigrant race,<br>And he feels not the rain nor the drouth.<br>His sinews are tougher than wire; and his face<br>Has been tanned by the sun of the south.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now doomed to be shorn of its glory at last<br>Is the stately old tree he attacks;<br>Its moments of life he is numbering fast<br>With the keen steady strokes of his axe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Loud cracks at the butt; and the strong wood is burst;<br>And the splitter steps backward, and turns<br>His eyes to the boughs that move slowly at first<br>Ere they rush to their grave in the ferns.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He strips off the bark with slight effort of strength<br>And stretches it out on the weeds,<br>And marks off the trunk with a measure the length<br>Of the rails or the palings he needs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The teeth of his crosscut so truly are set<br>That it swings from his elbow at ease;<br>And the song of the saw—I am hearing it yet—<br>Has the music of wind in the trees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Strong blows on the wedge, and a rip and a tear,<br>And the log opens up to the butt;<br>And, spreading around through the pure mountain air,<br>Is the scent of the wood newly cut.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A lover of comfort and cronies is he;<br>And when the day’s work is behind,<br>A fire, and a yarn, and a billy of tea,<br>At the hut of the splitter you’ll find.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His custom is sought in the town by the range;<br>For well to the future he looks:<br>His cheques in an instant the storekeepers change;<br>And his name is the best on the books.</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=408874" data-title="The Mountain Splitter de Henry Lawson" data-description="He works in the glen where the waratah grows,
And the gums and the ashes are tall,
’Neath cliffs that re-echo the sound of his blows
When the wedges leap in from the mawl.

He comes of a hardy old immigrant race,
And he feels not the rain nor th..."></div>
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