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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408957" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Wander-Light</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">And they heard the tent-poles clatter, <br>And the fly in twain was torn – <br>'Tis the soiled rag of a tatter <br>Of the tent where I was born. <br>And what matters it, I wonder? <br>Brick or stone or calico? – <br>Or a bush you were born under, <br>When it happened long ago? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And my beds were camp beds and tramp beds and damp beds, <br>And my beds were dry beds on drought-stricken ground, <br>Hard beds and soft beds, and wide beds and narrow – <br>For my beds were strange beds the wide world round. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the old hag seemed to ponder <br>('Twas my mother told me so), <br>And she said that I would wander <br>Where but few would think to go. <br>&quot;He will fly the haunts of tailors, <br>He will cross the ocean wide, <br>For his fathers, they were sailors <br>All on his good father's side.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behind me, before me, Oh! my roads are stormy <br>The thunder of skies and the sea's sullen sound, <br>The coaster or liner, the English or foreign, <br>The state-room or steerage the wide world round. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the old hag she seemed troubled <br>As she bent above the bed, <br>&quot;He will dream things and he'll see things <br>To come true when he is dead. <br>He will see things all too plainly, <br>And his fellows will deride, <br>For his mothers they were gipsies <br>All on his good mother's side.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And my dreams are strange dreams, are day dreams, are grey dreams, <br>And my dreams are wild dreams, and old dreams and new; <br>They haunt me and daunt me with fears of the morrow – <br>My brothers they doubt me – but my dreams come true. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so I was born of fathers <br>From where ice-bound harbours are <br>Men whose strong limbs never rested <br>And whose blue eyes saw afar. <br>Till, for gold, one left the ocean, <br>Seeking over plain and hill; <br>And so I was born of mothers <br>Whose deep minds were never still. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I rest not, 'tis best not, the world is a wide one <br>And, caged for an hour, I pace to and fro; <br>I see things and dree things and plan while I'm sleeping, <br>I wander for ever and dream as I go. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have stood by Table Mountain <br>On the Lion at Capetown, <br>And I watched the sunset fading <br>From the roads that I marked down, <br>And I looked out with my brothers <br>From the heights behind Bombay, <br>Gazing north and west and eastward, <br>Over roads I'll tread some day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For my ways are strange ways and new ways and old ways, <br>And deep ways and steep ways and high ways and low; <br>I'm at home and at ease on a track that I know not, <br>And restless and lost on a road that I know.</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=408957" data-title="The Wander-Light de Henry Lawson" data-description="And they heard the tent-poles clatter, 
And the fly in twain was torn – 
'Tis the soiled rag of a tatter 
Of the tent where I was born. 
And what matters it, I wonder? 
Brick or stone or calico? – 
Or a bush you were born under, 
When it happe..."></div>
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