Poetry – Louisa Lawson (not just Henry’s Mum)

Louisa Lawson (17 February 1848 – 12 August 1920) was an Australian poet, writer, newspaper publisher, suffragist, and feminist.

Editor and publisher of The Dawn – the first journal produced entirely by women, including its printing and despite the efforts of the NSW Typographical Association who refused membership to women and who attempted to shut the printing down, it was published monthly for 17 years. The Dawn had a strong feminist perspective and frequently addressed issues such as women’s right to vote and assume public office, women’s education, women’s economic and legal rights, domestic violence, and temperance. The Dawn also published son Henry’s first book of poetry. Thanks Mum.

In the preface to her book “The Lonely Crossing, and other poems” (1905), the only collection of her works published in her lifetime, Louisa wrote:

““In putting my house in order” I decided to arrange and publish this unpretentious little collection of verses, some of which were composed before leaving school, and others later on with babe at nurse. Those of widowed years were written for solace when under stress of pain and sorrow. Should they find a place in the hearts of the most humble among my countrywomen I shall feel more than repaid for the trouble and cost of publication.”

A fascinating article about Louisa may be found here.

Back Again (1904)

Oh, my boy, come in, do.
You’ve come back at last,
Two years since we saw you,
How the time has passed!

Have a bath and shave first,
No — a cup of tea?
Think you want a rest worst?
Dear, oh deary me!

Look, boy, at your boots, too,
All cut with the rocks,
Have you brought home with you
Any mended socks

They are always tearing?
Threw them all away?
Alberts you are wearing?
Goodness, what are they?

Felt that you were coming,
So I wrote to Bob,
He says things are humming:
And you’ll get a job.

Now, dear, don’t come near me,
You’re all over dust,
Can you smoke? Oh, dear me.
’Spose so if you must.

To My Sister (1893)

Thou’rt sleeping calmly in thy tomb,
While I from day to day
Still blunder on amid the gloom
Of life’s uncertain way.

Thou’rt resting here in perfect peace, 
Kind Heaven favoured thee,
In that it willed thee quick release
From all the cares that be.

But thou wert ne’er a child of earth, 
Ne’er like the noisy crowd
Who clustered round our father’s hearth — 
Thy voice was never loud.

And sometimes when the moon at night
Shines through the open door,
And casts a belt of silver light
Across our humble floor — 

I fancy then, my sister dear,
That back to earth and me
Thy spirit floats; I feel thee near,
Though thee I cannot see.

I stretch vain arms that would enfold
Thee in a fond embrace,
Forgetting long, long, years have rolled
Since I beheld thy face.

‘Twas well thou could’st not long remain
Where care would be thy lot,
Nor would I have thee back again,
God knows, dear, I would not.

In vain in thought I backward stray
And search from year to year
To record find of e’en a day
Unclouded by a care.

Joy never twined a wreath for me
In May-day’s sunniest hours,
But sorrow’s tares were safe to be
Inwoven with the flowers.

It hovers o’er me through the night
And robs me of my rest,
Nor flies when morning sunbeams light
The dew on nature’s breast.

But storms may beat about thy grave
And rage above thy head;
It frets thee not how winds may rave — 
Safe in thy silent bed.

And I could oft without regret
Resign each cherished scheme
And rest with thee, so care beset
And weary do I seem.

But not while shines an harvest sun
Must slumber come to me,
At eve, with full day’s labour done
Sweeter the rest will be.