BY blacksoil plains burned grey with drought <br />Where desert shrubs and grasses grow, <br />Along the Land of Furthest Out <br />That only Overlanders know. <br />I dreamed I camped on river grass <br />In bends where river timber grew— <br />I dreamed, I dreamed the days to pass <br />Till all the bad things came untrue. <br /> <br />I dreamed that I was young again, <br />But was not young as I had been, <br />My path through life seemed fair and plain, <br />My sight and hearing clear and keen. <br />No longer bent nor lined and grey, <br />I met and loved and worshipped you— <br />I dreamed, I dreamed the days away <br />Till all the sad things came untrue. <br /> <br />I dreamed a home of freestone stood <br />With toned tiled roofs as roofs should be, <br />By cliff and fall and beach and wood <br />With wide verandahs to the sea. <br />I dreamed a hale gudeman and wife, <br />With sons and daughters well-to-do, <br />Lived there the glorious old home life <br />And all the mad things were untrue. <br /> <br />From blacksoil plains burned bare with drought <br />Where years are sown that never grow— <br />From dead grey creeks of dreams and drought, <br />Through black-ridged wastes of weirdest woe, <br />I tramped and camped with fearsome fare <br />Until the sea-scape came in view, <br />And lo! the home lay smiling there <br />And all the bad things were untrue.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/till-all-the-bad-things-came-untrue/
