He sagged upon the tender grass
Where twinkling butterflies
Coquetted with the scented mass
Of gum bloom. In his eyes
A dreamy speculation lay;
His hat was knocked about;
His clothes were old, and fell away,
And from his broken boots in play
His curling toes peeked out.
"I ort 'ave bin a dook," said he,
"Or else a noble earl.
'Ard work ain't possible to me;
I wasn't born to whirl
A nax, or swing a navvy's pick,
Or even shake a sword.
For all that, I'm amazin' quick
With hard old drink, or soft young chick.
I ort 'ave bin a lord.
"I 'ate coarse clo'es 'n' bread 'n' cheese;
I'd love a royal bed,
With linen sheets 'n' tapestries
Hung close above me 'ead.
I 'ave no gifts; I'm positive
I cannot do a thing,
'N' through the changin' year to live
I have to take what others give.
I ort 'ave bin a king.
"'N' there are dooks, 'n' lords, 'n' earls
Who do not want to lie
'N' watch the lily where it curls
Agin the driftin' sky.
They're up 'n' doin', so I'm told,
As long as they can see.
What good to them uncounted gold?
The gift of ease they do not 'old --
They orter have bin me.
"This world is all a sorry mess.
It has its idle poor
Who can't enjoy their idleness,
But suffer and endure.
It has its wealthy class that feels
For work a fearful itch.
Yet to the worthless poor it deals
Out endless stoush, but never weals
The undeservin' rich!"
First published in The Bulletin, 9 May 1918
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
Where twinkling butterflies
Coquetted with the scented mass
Of gum bloom. In his eyes
A dreamy speculation lay;
His hat was knocked about;
His clothes were old, and fell away,
And from his broken boots in play
His curling toes peeked out.
"I ort 'ave bin a dook," said he,
"Or else a noble earl.
'Ard work ain't possible to me;
I wasn't born to whirl
A nax, or swing a navvy's pick,
Or even shake a sword.
For all that, I'm amazin' quick
With hard old drink, or soft young chick.
I ort 'ave bin a lord.
"I 'ate coarse clo'es 'n' bread 'n' cheese;
I'd love a royal bed,
With linen sheets 'n' tapestries
Hung close above me 'ead.
I 'ave no gifts; I'm positive
I cannot do a thing,
'N' through the changin' year to live
I have to take what others give.
I ort 'ave bin a king.
"'N' there are dooks, 'n' lords, 'n' earls
Who do not want to lie
'N' watch the lily where it curls
Agin the driftin' sky.
They're up 'n' doin', so I'm told,
As long as they can see.
What good to them uncounted gold?
The gift of ease they do not 'old --
They orter have bin me.
"This world is all a sorry mess.
It has its idle poor
Who can't enjoy their idleness,
But suffer and endure.
It has its wealthy class that feels
For work a fearful itch.
Yet to the worthless poor it deals
Out endless stoush, but never weals
The undeservin' rich!"
First published in The Bulletin, 9 May 1918
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
