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Henry Lawson - The Paroo
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It was a week from Christmas-time,
As near as I remember,
And half a year since, in the rear,
We`d left the Darling timber.
The track was hot and more than drear;
The day dragged out for ever;
But now we knew that we were near
Our camp - the Paroo River.
With blighted eyes and blistered feet,
With stomachs out of order,
Half-mad with flies and dust and heat
We`d crossed the Queensland border.
I longed to hear a stream go by
And see the circles quiver;
I longed to lay me down and die
That night on Paroo River.

The "nose-bags" heavy on each chest
(God bless one kindly squatter!),
With grateful weight our hearts they pressed -
We only wanted water.
The sun was setting in a spray
Of colour like a liver -
We`d fondly hoped to camp and stay
That night by Paroo River.
 A cloud was on my mate`s broad brow,
And once I heard him mutter:
`What price the good old Darling now? -
God bless that grand old gutter!"
And then he stopped and slowly said
In tones that made me shiver:
"It cannot well be on ahead -
I think we`ve crossed the river."
But soon we saw a strip of ground
Beside the track we followed,
No damper than the surface round,
But just a little hollowed.
His brow assumed a thoughtful frown -
This speech did he deliver:
"I wonder if we`d best go down
Or up the blessed river?"

"But where," said I, " `s the blooming stream?`
And he replied, `we`re at it!"
I stood awhile, as in a dream,
"Great Scott!" I cried, "is that it?
Why, that is some old bridle-track!"
He chuckled, "Well, I never!
It`s plain you`ve never been Out Back -
This is the Paroo River!"
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