The Separation
Henry Lawson was born in a tent on the Grenfell goldfields in 1867. His father was a Norse sailor who became a digger; his mother came of a Kentish family of gypsy blood and tradition. Henry spent his boy hood on old mining fields, and on a selection his father had taken up. Later, he came to Sydney and learned coach-painting, attended night school and was caught up in the wave of socialism. In 1884, at the age of seventeen, his poetry was published in the Bulletin a Sydney publication. He died an alcoholic in a convalescent hospital in 1922. The Prime Minister afforded him a state funeral in recognition of his literary genius.
The Separation
We knew too little of the world, And you and I were good— But paltry bickerings wrecked our lives As well I knew they would. The people said our love was dead, But how were they to know? Ah! Had we loved each other less We’d not have quarrelled so.
We knew too little of the world, And you and I were kind, We listened to what others said And both of us were blind. The people said `twas selfishness, But how were they to know? Ah! Had we both been selfish then We’d not have parted so.
But still, when all seems lost on earth Then heaven sets a sign— Kneel down beside your lonely bed, And I will kneel by mine, And let us pray for happy days— Like those of long ago. Ah! had we knelt together once We’d not have parted so.
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