Henry Lawson

the bush girl

So you rode from the range where your brothers “select,” through the ghostly grey bush in the dawn --- You rode slowly at first, lest her heart should suspect that you were glad to be gone; You had scarcely the courage to glance back at her by the homestead receding from view, and you breathed with relief as you rounded the spur, for the world was a wide world to you. Grey eyes that grow sadder than sunset or rain, fond heart that is ever more true, firm faith that grows firmer for watching in vain --- She’ll wait by the sliprails for you.

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