The Drover’s Sweetheart

Henry Lawson

AN hour before the sun goes down
Behind the ragged boughs,
I go across the little run
And bring the dusty cows;

And once I used to sit and rest
Beneath the fading dome,
For there was one that I loved best
Who’d bring the cattle home.

Our yard is fixed with double bails;
Round one the grass is green,
The Bush is growing through the rails,
The spike is rusted in;

It was from there his freckled face
Would turn and smile at me;
For he’d milk seven in the race
While I was milking three.

He kissed me twice and once again
And rode across the hill,
The pint-pots and the hobble-chain
I hear them jingling still.

About the hut the sunlight fails,
The fire shines through the cracks—
I climb the broken stockyard rails
And watch the bridle-tracks.

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