Explore "The Soul of a Poet" by Henry Lawson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I have written, long years I have written, / For the sake of my people and right, / I was true when the iron had bitten / Deep into my soul in the night; / I wrote not for praise nor for money, / I craved but the soul and the pen, / And I felt not the sting in the honey / Of writing the kindness of men.
You read and you saw without seeing, / My work seemed a trifle apart, / While the truth of things thrilled through my being, / And the wrong of things murdered my heart! / Cast out, and despised and neglected, / And weak, and in fear, and in debt, / My songs, mutilated! rejected! / Shall ring through the Commonwealth yet!