Poem – A Song Of The Pen – Banjo Paterson

Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft, 

Not for the people’s praise; 

Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed, 

Claiming us all our days, 

Claiming our best endeavour — body and heart and brain 

Given with no reserve — 

Niggard is she towards us, granting us little gain: 

Still, we are proud to serve. 
Not unto us is given choice of the tasks we try, 

Gathering grain or chaff; 

One of her favoured servants toils at an epic high, 

One, that a child may laugh. 
Yet if we serve her truly in our appointed place, 

Freely she doth accord 

Unto her faithful servants always this saving grace, 

Work is its own reward!