THOUGH doctors may your name discard <br />And say you physicked vilely, <br />I would I were as good a bard <br />As you a doctor, Wylie! <br /> <br />How often, when your skill subdued <br />The fever ranging highly, <br />You won a bushman’s gratitude, <br />Though little more, Doc Wylie! <br /> <br />How oft across the regions wide <br />Where scrub for many a mile lay <br />The bushman rode, as bushmen ride, <br />To seek your aid, Doc Wylie! <br /> <br />But now, when bushman’s wife or child <br />Lies ill and suffering direly, <br />He’ll need to ride a weary while <br />Before he finds Doc Wylie. <br /> <br />I hope where they have made your bed, <br />And where these verses I lay, <br />They’ll raise a board above your head— <br />And write your name—Doc Wylie!<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-doc-wylie/
