Ah! The world is a new and a wide one to you, But the world to your sweetheart is shut, For a change never comes to the lonely Bush girl From the stockyard, the bush, and the hut; And the only relief from the dullness she feels Is when ridges grow softened and dim, And away in the dusk to the sliprails she steals To dream of past meetings with him.
Henry LawsonAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: australian
- Born: June 17, 1867
- Died: September 2, 1922
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