Unwritten Books

Henry Lawson, 1910

      It always seems the same old story —
      No matter what grand heights are won —
      We die with our best work unwritten,
      We die with our best work undone.

      Unwritten books, unpainted pictures
      In millions are, beneath the sun.
      We die, with our great thoughts unpublished,
      We die with our best work undone.