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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=408840" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Imported Servant</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=408840" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The Blue Sky arches o’er mountain and valley,<br>The scene is as fair as a scene can be,<br>But I’m breaking my heart for a London alley,<br>And fogs that shall never come back to me.<br>I choke with tears when the day is dying—<br>The sunsets grand and the stars are bright;<br>But it’s O! for the smell of the fried fish frying<br>By the flaring stalls on a Saturday night. <br>And this, oh, this is the lonely sequel<br>Of all I pictured would come to pass!<br>They are treating me here as a friend and equal,<br>But they’d say in London that they’re no class.<br>When I think of their kindness my tears flow faster—<br>The girls are free and the chaps are grand:<br>It’s “the boss” and “the missus” for mistress and master,<br>And they may be right—But I don’t understand. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=408840" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I see the air in its warm pulsation<br>On sandstone cliffs where the ocean dips,<br>But I’m miles and miles from the railway station<br>Where trains run down to the wharves and ships.<br>Those streets are dingy and dark and narrow,<br>The soot comes down with the rain and sleet;<br>But, O! for the sight of a coster’s barrow,<br>And Sunday morning in Chapel Street!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a></strong></div>