I would never waste the hours
Of the time that is mine own,
Writing verses about flowers
For their own sweet sakes alone;
Gushing as a schoolgirl gushes
Over babies at their best-
Or as poets trill of thrushes,
Larks, and starlings and the rest.
I am not a man who praises
Beauty that he cannot see,
But the buttercups and daisies
Bring my childhood back to me;
And before life-s bitter battle,
That breaks lion hearts and kills,
Oh the waratah and wattle
Saw my boyhood on the hills.
It was -Cissyâ? or Cecilia,
And I loved her very much,
When I wore the white camelia
That will wither at a touch.
Ah, the fairest chapter closes
With lilies white and blue,
When the wild days with the roses
Cast their glamour over you!
Vine leaves fall and laurels wither
(Madd-ning drink and pride insane),
And the fate that sends us hither
Ever takes us back again.
Fading flowers-slow pulsations-
Flowers pressed for memory
But the red and pink carnations
Speak most bitter things to me.
The Memories They Bring
Henry Lawson
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Poem topics: alone, beauty, childhood, fate, life, memory, never, pink, pride, red, time, wild, blue, battle, sweet, bring, touch, speak, drink, waste, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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