Henry Lawson was a great one for schmaltz - Do You Think I Do Not Know is a classic of its kind:

They say that I never have written of love
As a writer of songs should do.
They say that I never could touch the strings
With a touch that is firm and true.
They say I know nothing of women and men
In the fields where love's roses grow.
I must write, they say, with a halting pen;
Do you think I do not know?

My love burst came like an English spring
In the days when our hair was brown.
And the hem of her skirt was a sacred thing,
Her hair was an angel's crown.
The shock when another man touched her arm
Where the dancers sat in a row,
The hope and despair and the false alarm;
Do you think I do not know?

By the arbour lights on the western farm,
You remember the question put.
While you held her warm in your quivering arms,
You trembled from head to foot.
The electric shock from her fingertips,
The murmuring answer low,
The soft shy yielding of warm red lips;
Do you think I do not know?

She was buried at Brighton, where Gordon sleeps,
When I was a world away.
And the sad old garden its secret keeps,
For nobody knows today.
She left a message for me to read
Where the wild, wide oceans flow;
Do you know how the heart of a man can bleed?
Do you think I do not know?

I stood by the grave where the dead girl lies
When the sunlit scene was fair.
'Neath the white clouds high in the autumn skies
I answered the message there.
But the haunting words of the dead to me,
She'll go wherever I go,
She lives in the marriage that might have been;
Do you think I do not know?