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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408930" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Southerly Buster</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's a wind that blows out of the South in the drought,<br>And we pray for the touch of his breath<br>When siroccos come forth from the North-West and North,<br>Or in dead calms of fever and death.<br>With eyes glad and dim we should sing him a hymn,<br>For depression and death are his foes,<br>And he gives us new life for the bread-winning strife—<br>When the glorious Old Southerly blows. <br>Old Southerly Buster! your forces you muster<br>Where seldom a wind bloweth twice,<br>And your ‘white-caps’ have hint of the snow caps, and glint of<br>The far-away barriers of ice.<br>No wind the wide sea on can sing such a poean<br>Or do the great work that you do;<br>Our own wind and only, from seas wild and lonely—<br>Old Southerly Buster!—To you! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, the city is baked, and its thirst is unslaked,<br>Though it swallows iced drinks by the score,<br>And the blurred sky is low and the air seems aglow<br>As if breezes would cool it no more.<br>We are watching all hands where the Post Office stands—<br>We are watching out hopefully too—<br>For a red light shall glower from the Post Office tower<br>When the Southerly Buster is due. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The yachts run away at the end of the day<br>From the breakers commencing to comb,<br>For a few he may swamp in the health-giving romp<br>With the friendly Old Southerly home.<br>But he never drowns one, for the drowning is done<br>By the fools, or the reckless in sport;<br>And the alleys and slums shall be cooled when he comes<br>With the weary wind-jammers to port. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh softly he plays through the city’s hot ways<br>To the beds where they’re calling ‘Come quick!’<br>He is gentle and mild round the feverish child,<br>And he cools the hot brow of the sick.<br>Clearing drought-hazy skies, up the North Coast he hies<br>Till the mouths of our rivers are fair—<br>And along the sea, too, he has good work to do,<br>For he takes the old timber-tubs there. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis a glorious mission, Old Sydney’s Physician!<br>Broom, Bucket, and Cloth of the East,<br>’Tis a breeze and a sprayer that answers our prayer,<br>And it’s free to the greatest and least.<br>The red-lamp’s a warning to drought and its scorning—<br>A sign to the city at large—<br>Hence! Headache and Worry! Despondency hurry!<br>Old Southerly Buster’s in charge </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old Southerly Buster! your forces you muster<br>Where seldom a wind bloweth twice,<br>And your ‘white-caps’ have hint of the snow caps, and glint of<br>The far-away barriers of ice.<br>No wind the wide sea on can sing such a poean<br>Or do the great work that you do;<br>Our own wind and only, from seas wild and lonely—<br>Old Southerly Buster!—To you!</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=408930" data-title="The Southerly Buster de Henry Lawson" data-description="There's a wind that blows out of the South in the drought,
And we pray for the touch of his breath
When siroccos come forth from the North-West and North,
Or in dead calms of fever and death.
With eyes glad and dim we should sing him a hymn,
For d..."></div>
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