Explore "The Memories they Bring" by Henry Lawson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I WOULD never waste the hours / Of the time that is mine own, / Writing verses about flowers / For their own sweet sakes alone; / Gushing as a schoolgirl gushes / Over babies at their best -- / Or as poets trill of thrushes, / Larks, and starlings and the rest.
I am not a man who praises / Beauty that he cannot see, / But the buttercups and daisies / Bring my childhood back to me; / And before life's bitter battle, / That breaks lion hearts and kills, / Oh the waratah and wattle / Saw my boyhood on the hills.
It was "Cissy" or Cecilia, / And I loved her very much, / When I wore the white camelia / That will wither at a touch. / Ah, the fairest chapter closes / With lilies white and blue, / When the wild days with the roses / Cast their glamour over you!
Vine leaves fall and laurels wither / (Madd'ning drink and pride insane), / And the fate that sends us hither / Ever takes us back again. / Fading flowers -- slow pulsations -- / Flowers pressed for memory / But the red and pink carnations / Speak most bitter things to me.