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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409007" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When the Ladies Come to the Shearing Shed</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘The ladies are coming,’ the super says<br>To the shearers sweltering there,<br>And ‘the ladies’ means in the shearing shed:<br>‘Don’t cut ’em too bad. Don’t swear.’<br>The ghost of a pause in the shed’s rough heart,<br>And lower is bowed each head;<br>And nothing is heard, save a whispered word,<br>And the roar of the shearing-shed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tall, shy rouser has lost his wits,<br>And his limbs are all astray;<br>He leaves a fleece on the shearing-board,<br>And his broom in the shearer’s way.<br>There’s a curse in store for that jackaroo<br>As down by the wall he slants—<br>And the ringer bends with his legs askew<br>And wishes he’d ‘patched them pants.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are girls from the city. (Our hearts rebel<br>As we squint at their dainty feet.)<br>And they gush and say in a girly way<br>That ‘the dear little lambs’ are ‘sweet.’<br>And Bill, the ringer, who’d scorn the use<br>Of a childish word like ‘damn,’<br>Would give a pound that his tongue were loose<br>As he tackles a lively lamb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Swift thoughts of homes in the coastal towns—<br>Or rivers and waving grass—<br>And a weight on our hearts that we cannot define<br>That comes as the ladies pass.<br>But the rouser ventures a nervous dig<br>In the ribs of the next to him;<br>And Barcoo says to his pen-mate: ‘Twig<br>‘The style of the last un, Jim.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jim Moonlight gives her a careless glance—<br>Then he catches his breath with pain—<br>His strong hand shakes and the sunlights dance<br>As he bends to his work again.<br>But he’s well disguised in a bristling beard,<br>Bronzed skin, and his shearer’s dress;<br>And whatever Jim Moonlight hoped or feared<br>Were hard for his mates to guess.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jim Moonlight, wiping his broad, white brow,<br>Explains, with a doleful smile:<br>‘A stitch in the side,’ and ‘he’s all right now’—<br>But he leans on the beam awhile,<br>And gazes out in the blazing noon<br>On the clearing, brown and bare—<br>She has come and gone, like a breath of June,<br>In December’s heat and glare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bushmen are big rough boys at the best,<br>With hearts of a larger growth;<br>But they hide those hearts with a brutal jest,<br>And the pain with a reckless oath.<br>Though the Bills and Jims of the bush-bard sing<br>Of their life loves, lost or dead,<br>The love of a girl is a sacred thing<br>Not voiced in a shearing-shed.</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=409007" data-title="When the Ladies Come to the Shearing Shed de Henry Lawson" data-description="‘The ladies are coming,’ the super says
To the shearers sweltering there,
And ‘the ladies’ means in the shearing shed:
‘Don’t cut ’em too bad. Don’t swear.’
The ghost of a pause in the shed’s rough heart,
And lower is bowed eac..."></div>
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