Full Online Books
Authors Authors Short Stories Short Stories Long Stories Long Stories Funny Stories Funny Stories Love Stories Love Stories Stories For Kids Stories For Kids Poems Poems Essays Essays Nonfictions Nonfictions Plays Plays Folktales Folktales Fairy Tales Fairy Tales Fables Fables Learning Kitchen Learning Kitchen
Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional Free Classified Website Without Registration Free Classified Website Daniel Company
Twitter Twitter Add book
Full Online Book HomePoemsThe Poets Of The Tomb
Famous Authors (View All Authors)
The Poets Of The Tomb Post by :karlt Category :Poems Author :Henry Lawson Date :January 2011 Read :3082

Click below to download : The Poets Of The Tomb (Format : PDF)

The Poets Of The Tomb

The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead,
'Tis time the people passed a law to knock 'em on the head,
For 'twould be lovely if their friends could grant the rest they crave --
Those bards of 'tears' and 'vanished hopes', those poets of the grave.
They say that life's an awful thing, and full of care and gloom,
They talk of peace and restfulness connected with the tomb.

They say that man is made of dirt, and die, of course, he must;
But, all the same, a man is made of pretty solid dust.
There is a thing that they forget, so let it here be writ,
That some are made of common mud, and some are made of GRIT;
Some try to help the world along while others fret and fume
And wish that they were slumbering in the silence of the tomb.

'Twixt mother's arms and coffin-gear a man has work to do!
And if he does his very best he mostly worries through,
And while there is a wrong to right, and while the world goes round,
An honest man alive is worth a million underground.
And yet, as long as sheoaks sigh and wattle-blossoms bloom,
The world shall hear the drivel of the poets of the tomb.

And though the graveyard poets long to vanish from the scene,
I notice that they mostly wish their resting-place kept green.
Now, were I rotting underground, I do not think I'd care
If wombats rooted on the mound or if the cows camped there;
And should I have some feelings left when I have gone before,
I think a ton of solid stone would hurt my feelings more.

Such wormy songs of mouldy joys can give me no delight;
I'll take my chances with the world, I'd rather live and fight.
Though Fortune laughs along my track, or wears her blackest frown,
I'll try to do the world some good before I tumble down.
Let's fight for things that ought to be, and try to make 'em boom;
We cannot help mankind when we are ashes in the tomb.

(The end)
Henry Lawson's poem: Poets Of The Tomb

If you like this book please share to your friends :

Australian Bards And Bush Reviewers Australian Bards And Bush Reviewers

Australian Bards And Bush Reviewers
While you use your best endeavour to immortalise in verse The gambling and the drink which are your country's greatest curse, While you glorify the bully and take the spieler's part -- You're a clever southern writer, scarce inferior to Bret Harte. If you sing of waving grasses when the plains are dry as bricks, And discover shining rivers where there's only mud and sticks; If you picture 'mighty forests' where the mulga spoils the view -- You're superior to Kendall, and ahead of Gordon too. If you swear there's not a country like the land that gave you birth, And

Marshall's Mate Marshall's Mate

Marshall's Mate
You almost heard the surface bake, and saw the gum-leaves turn -- You could have watched the grass scorch brown had there been grass to burn. In such a drought the strongest heart might well grow faint and weak -- 'Twould frighten Satan to his home -- not far from Dingo Creek. The tanks went dry on Ninety Mile, as tanks go dry out back, The Half-Way Spring had failed at last when Marshall missed the track; Beneath a dead tree on the plain we saw a pack-horse reel -- Too blind to see there was no shade, and too done-up