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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408945" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Tracks That Lie By India</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now this is not a dismal song, like some I’ve sung of late,<br>When I’ve been brooding all day long about my muddled fate;<br>For though I’ve had a rocky time I’ll never quite forget,<br>And though I never was so deep in trouble and in debt,<br>And though I never was so poor nor in a fix so tight—<br>The tracks that run by India are shining in my sight. <br>The roads that run by India, and all the ports of call—<br>I’m going back to London first to raise the wherewithal.<br>I’ll call at Suez and Port Said as I am going past<br>(I was too worried to take notes when I was that way last),<br>At Naples and at Genoa, and, if I get the chance,<br>Who knows but I might run across the pleasant land of France. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The track that runs by India goes up the hot Red Sea—<br>The other side of Africa is far too dull for me.<br>(I fear that I have missed a chance I’ll never get again<br>To see the land of chivalry and bide awhile in Spain.)<br>I’ll graft a year in London, and if fortune smiles on me<br>I’ll take the track to India by France and Italy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis sweet to court some foreign girl with eyes of lustrous glow,<br>Who does not know my language and whose language I don’t know;<br>To loll on gently-rolling decks beneath the softening skies,<br>While she sits knitting opposite, and make love with our eyes—<br>The glance that says far more than words, the old half-mystic smile—<br>The track that runs by India will wait for me awhile. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tracks that run by India to China and Japan,<br>The tracks where all the rovers go—the tracks that call a Man!<br>I’m wearied of the formal lands of parson and of priest,<br>Of dollars and of fashions, and I’m drifting towards the East;<br>I’m tired of cant and cackle, and of sordid jobbery—<br>The mystery of the East hath cast its glamour over me.</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=408945" data-title="The Tracks That Lie By India de Henry Lawson" data-description="Now this is not a dismal song, like some I’ve sung of late,
When I’ve been brooding all day long about my muddled fate;
For though I’ve had a rocky time I’ll never quite forget,
And though I never was so deep in trouble and in debt,
And th..."></div>
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