Poem by Henry Lawson

I’ll Tell You What You Wanderers

I’ll tell you what you wanderers, who drift from town to town; 
Don’t look into a good girl’s eyes, until you’ve settled down. 
It’s hard to go away alone and leave old chums behind- 
It’s hard to travel steerage when your tastes are more refined- 
To reach a place when times are bad, and to be standing there, 
No money in your pocket nor a decent rag to wear. 
But be forced from that fond clasp, from that last clinging kiss- 
By poverty! There is on earth no harder thing than this.

1. Up the Country
2. Wide Spaces
3. Eureka
4. Since Then
5. The Wander-Light

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