Читать книгу Poetical Works of Henry Lawson - Henry Lawson - Страница 41

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An hour before the sun goes down

Behind the ragged boughs,

I go across the little run

And bring the dusty cows;

And once I used to sit and rest

Beneath the fading dome,

For there was one that I loved best

Who’d bring the cattle home.

Our yard is fixed with double bails,

Round one the grass is green,

The Bush is growing through the rails,

The spike is rusted in;

It was from there his freckled face

Would turn and smile at me;

He’d milk seven in the race

While I was milking three.

He kissed me twice and once again

And rode across the hill,

The pint-pots and the hobble-chain

I hear them jingling still . . .

About the hut the sunlight fails,

And the fire shines through the cracks—

I climb the broken stockyard rails

And watch the bridle-tracks.

And he is coming back again—

He wrote from Evatt’s Rock;

A flood was in the Darling then

And foot-rot in the flock.

The sheep were falling thick and fast

A hundred miles from town,

And when he reached the line at last

He trucked the remnant down.

And so he’ll have to stand the cost;

His luck was always bad,

Instead of making more, he lost

The money that he had;

And how he’ll manage, heaven knows

(My eyes are getting dim),

He says—he says—he don’t—suppose

I’ll want—to—marry—him.

As if I wouldn’t take his hand

Without a golden glove—

Oh! Jack, you men won’t understand

How much a girl can love.

I long to see his face once more—

Jack’s dog! thank God, it’s Jack!—

(I never thought I’d faint before)

He’s coming—up—the track.