Henry Lawson Poems

All is well—in a prison—to-night, and the warders are crying ‘All’s Well!’
I must speak, for the sake of my heart—if it’s but to the walls of my cell.
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There's a light out there in the nearer east
In the dawn of Nineteen Nine;
There’s the old ghost light in the salty yeast
Where the black rocks meet the brine.
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It was Peter the Barbarian put an apron in his bag
And rolled up the honoured bundle that Australians call a swag;
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Dust, dust, dust and a dog –
Oh! The sheep-dog won’t be last.
When the long, long, shadow of the old bay horse
With the shadow of his mate is cast.
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'Where are you going with your horse and bike,
And the townsfolk still at rest?
Where are you going, with your swag and pack,
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I want to be lighting my pipe on deck,
With my baggage safe below—
I want to be free of the crowded quay,
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A lonely young wife
In her dreaming discerns
A lily-decked pool
With a border of ferns,
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Light on the towns and cities, and peace for evermore!
The Big Five met in the world's light as many had met before,
And the future of man is settled and there shall be no more war.
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“Queensland,” he heads his letters—that’s all:
The date, and the month, and the year in brief;
He often sends me a cheerful scrawl,
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The Young King fights in the trenches and the Old King fights in the rear—
Because he is old and feeble, and not for a thought of fear.
The Young King fights for the Future, and the Old King fights
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