Classic Poem

I'd rather lie on a rye-grass bed
Where the sun fights with the willow,
My saddle underneath my head,
My blanket for a pillow,
Than on the silk of palaces.
On the rye-grass let me lie
Between the desert quietness
The bigness of the sky.
I'd rather lie on the dry rye-grass
Than the softest bed of all:
By the water-hole, where the cattle pass
And the piebald magpies call,
To chew my soul as a cow her cud.
No human voice or sound:
The sky above and the desert flood
Of silence all around.