BEATEN back in sad dejection,
After years of weary toil
On that burning hot selection
Where the drought has gorged his spoil.
All in vain -gainst him, the vulture,
I have battled without rest-
In the van of agriculture,
Marching out into the West.
Now the eagle-hawks are feeding
On my perished stock that reek
Where the water-holes receding
Long had left the burning creek.
I must labour without pity-
I the pick and spade must wield
In the streetways of the city
Or upon another-s field!
Can it be my reason-s rocking,
For I feel a burning hate
For the God who, only mocking,
Sent the prayed-for rain too late?
Pour, ye mocking rains, and rattle
On the bare, brown, grassless plain,
On the shrivelled hides of cattle
That shall ne-er want grass again!
Rush, ye yellow floods, to Murray,
Over thirsty creek-banks foam;
And o-er all, ye black clouds, hurry;
Ye can bring not back my home!
Beaten Back
Henry Lawson
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Poem topics: city, feel, god, hate, home, rain, sad, water, grass, field, long, plain, brown, bring, thirsty, reason, black, labour, yellow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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