Macleay Street And Red Rock Lane Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCBDEFE GHIHJEKE LMIMNOLO LONOPLQL JRJRJSTS AOLOQUTS VWLWXLJL JJNJLJLJ THLHJSIS

Macleay Street looks to MosmanA
Across the other sideB
With brave asphalted pavementsC
And roadway clean and wideB
Macleay Street hath its mansionsD
Its grounds and greeneryE
Macleay Street hath its terracesF
As terraces should beE
-
Red Rock Lane looks to nowhereG
With pockets into hellH
Red Rock Lane is a horrorI
Of heat and dirt and smellH
Red Rock Lane hath its brothelsJ
Of houses one in threeE
Red Rock Lane hath its corner pubsK
As fourth rate pubs should beE
-
Macleay Street cool and quietL
Is marked off from the townM
And standing in the centreI
The tall arc lamps look downM
The jealous closed cabs vanishN
That stole from out the rowO
Fair women stroll bareheadedL
And theatre parties goO
-
Red Rock Lane hot with riotL
Hides things that none should knowO
The furtive couples vanishN
Through doorways dark and lowO
Lust thievery drink and madnessP
In one infernal stewL
And Mrs Johnson ravingQ
Walks out bareheaded tooL
-
Macleay Street hath its swindlesJ
But on a public scaleR
Macleay Street hath its razzlesJ
Until the night grows paleR
Macleay Street hath its scandalsJ
But only this is plainS
That nothing is a scandalT
Down there in Red Rock LaneS
-
Macleay Street looks to MosmanA
In morning s rosy glowO
And freshly to the cityL
The summer suited goO
While wild eyed foul and shakingQ
Red Rock Lane wakes againU
This morning at the CentralT
They re fining Red Rock LaneS
-
The Central says the risinV
Seven days or what you willW
Macleay Street says Drive slowlyL
When any one is illW
The law sends Black MariaX
When Red Rock Lane is deadL
But doctors come in motor carsJ
When Macleay Street s got a headL
-
The grey faced weedy parentsJ
Sunk in Red Rock Lane holesJ
They worry pinch and perishN
To save their children s soulsJ
The fairy of Macleay StreetL
Shall never soil her handsJ
Her Pa is independentL
Or high up in the LandsJ
-
And well there seems no moralT
And nothing more to tellH
But because of that fierce sympathyL
Of souls to souls in hellH
And because of that wild kindnessJ
To souls in sordid painS
My soul I d rather ventureI
With some in Red Rock LaneS

Henry Lawson



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