Генри Лоусон (Henry Lawson)

The Great Grey Plain

Out West, where the stars are brightest, 
Where the scorching north wind blows, 
And the bones of the dead gleam whitest, 
And the sun on a desert glows -- 
Yet within the selfish kingdom 
Where man starves man for gain, 
Where white men tramp for existence -- 
Wide lies the Great Grey Plain. 

No break in its awful horizon, 
No blur in the dazzling haze, 
Save where by the bordering timber 
The fierce, white heat-waves blaze, 
And out where the tank-heap rises 
Or looms when the sunlights wane, 
Till it seems like a distant mountain 
Low down on the Great Grey Plain. 

No sign of a stream or fountain, 
No spring on its dry, hot breast, 
No shade from the blazing noontide 
Where a weary man might rest. 
Whole years go by when the glowing 
Sky never clouds for rain -- 
Only the shrubs of the desert 
Grow on the Great Grey Plain. 

From the camp, while the rich man’s dreaming, 
Come the `traveller’ and his mate, 
In the ghastly dawnlight seeming 
Like a swagman’s ghost out late; 
And the horseman blurs in the distance, 
While still the stars remain, 
A low, faint dust-cloud haunting 
His track on the Great Grey Plain. 

And all day long from before them 
The mirage smokes away -- 
That daylight ghost of an ocean 
Creeps close behind all day 
With an evil, snake-like motion, 
As the waves of a madman’s brain: 
’Tis a phantom NOT like water 
Out there on the Great Grey Plain. 

There’s a run on the Western limit 
Where a man lives like a beast, 
And a shanty in the mulga 
That stretches to the East; 
And the hopeless men who carry 
Their swags and tramp in pain -- 
The footmen must not tarry 
Out there on the Great Grey Plain. 

Out West, where the stars are brightest, 
Where the scorching north wind blows, 
And the bones of the dead seem whitest, 
And the sun on a desert glows -- 
Out back in the hungry distance 
That brave hearts dare in vain -- 
Where beggars tramp for existence -- 
There lies the Great Grey Plain. 

’Tis a desert not more barren 
Than the Great Grey Plain of years, 
Where a fierce fire burns the hearts of men -- 
Dries up the fount of tears: 
Where the victims of a greed insane 
Are crushed in a hell-born strife -- 
Where the souls of a race are murdered 
On the Great Grey Plain of Life!

Поддержать сайт