Latest / James Allen Works Collection / Farmer's Bride (Version 2) - Charlotte Mew

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Farmer's Bride (Version 2) - Charlotte Mew · James Allen Works Collection

• 0:00
  Speaker 1: The Farmer's Bright a collection of poems by Sharlocke Mew
• 0:05
  Speaker 1: read FORI LibriVox dot Org by Michael Maggs. The Farmer's
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  Speaker 1: Bride three summers since I chose a maid, too young, maybe,
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  Speaker 1: but more as to do at ourvest time than bide
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  Speaker 1: and woo. When us was wed, she turn'd afraid of
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  Speaker 1: love o me and all things human, Like the shot
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  Speaker 1: of a winter's day. Her smile went out, and twasn't
• 0:32
  Speaker 1: a woman more like a little frightened fay. One night
• 0:37
  Speaker 1: in the fall she runned away out mong the sheeper be,
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  Speaker 1: they said, shall properly have been a bed. But sure
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  Speaker 1: enough she wasn't there lyin awake, with her wide brown stair,
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  Speaker 1: so over seven acre field, and up long across the
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  Speaker 1: down wheat chaster fly like a hare before our lanterns,
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  Speaker 1: the church town, all in a shiver and a scare.
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  Speaker 1: We caught her, fetched her home at last, and turned
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  Speaker 1: the key upon her fast. She does the work about
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  Speaker 1: the house as well as most, but like a mouse,
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  Speaker 1: happy enough to chat and play with birds and rabbits
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  Speaker 1: and such as they, so long as men folk keep away,
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  Speaker 1: not near, not near her eyes beseech when one of
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  Speaker 1: us comes within reach. The women say that beasts in
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  Speaker 1: stall look round like children at her call. I've hardly
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  Speaker 1: heard her speak at all. Shy as a leveret, swift
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  Speaker 1: as he straight, and slight as a young larch tree,
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  Speaker 1: sweet as the first wild violet. She to her wild self.
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  Speaker 1: But what to me? The short day shorten, and the
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  Speaker 1: oaks are brown. The blue smoke rises to the low
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  Speaker 1: gray sky. One leaf in the still air falls slowly down.
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  Speaker 1: The magpie spotted feathers lie on the black earth, spread
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  Speaker 1: white with rime, the berries redden up to Christmas time?
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  Speaker 1: What was Christmas time? Without there be some other in
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  Speaker 1: the house than we. She sleeps up in the attic
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  Speaker 1: there alone, poor maid, is but a stair betwixt us,
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  Speaker 1: Oh my God, the down, the soft young down of her,
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  Speaker 1: the brown, the brown of her, her eyes, her hair,
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  Speaker 1: her hair. End of poem. This recording is in the
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  Speaker 1: public domain. Fame by Are Not Mew read for LibriVox
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  Speaker 1: dot Org by Michael Maggs. Fame sometimes in the overheated house,
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  Speaker 1: but not for long. Smirking and speaking rather loud, I
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  Speaker 1: see myself among the crowd where no one fits. The
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  Speaker 1: singer to his song or sifts, the unpainted from the
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  Speaker 1: painted faces of the people who are always on my stair.
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  Speaker 1: They were not with me when I walked in heavenly places.
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  Speaker 1: But could I spare in the blind Earth's great silences
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  Speaker 1: and spaces, the din, the scuffle, the long stare, if
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  Speaker 1: I went back and it was not there? Back to
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  Speaker 1: the old known things that are the new, the folded
• 3:52
  Speaker 1: glory of the gorse, the sweet briar air, to the
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  Speaker 1: larks that cannot praise us, knowing nothing of what we do,
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  Speaker 1: and the divine wise trees that do not care yet
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  Speaker 1: to leave fame still with such eyes, and that bright
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  Speaker 1: hair God, if I might, and before I go, hence,
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  Speaker 1: take in her stead to our tossed bed, one little dream,
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  Speaker 1: no matter how small, how wild. Just now I think
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  Speaker 1: I found it in a field, under a fence, a frail,
• 4:35
  Speaker 1: dead newborn lamb, ghostly and pitiful and white, A blot
• 4:42
  Speaker 1: upon the night, the Moon's dropped child. End of poem.
• 4:51
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. The Narrow Door
• 5:00
  Speaker 1: by Charlotte mw Read for LibriVox dot Org by Michael Maggs.
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  Speaker 1: The Narrow Door, The Narrow Door, The narrow Door on
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  Speaker 1: the three steps, of which the cafe children play mostly
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  Speaker 1: at shop with pebbles from the shore. It is always
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  Speaker 1: shut this narrow door, but open for a little while
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  Speaker 1: to day, and round it, each with pebbles in his hand.
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  Speaker 1: A silenced crowd the cafe children stand to see the
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  Speaker 1: long box jerking down the bend of twisted stair, then
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  Speaker 1: set on end, quite filling up the narrow door, till
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  Speaker 1: it comes out and does not go in anymore. Along
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  Speaker 1: the key you see it wind the slow black line.
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  Speaker 1: Someone pulls up the blind of the small window just
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  Speaker 1: above the narrow door. Tien cavoudouachete Renee cries may boorcatsu
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  Speaker 1: designre Jean replies, and one pays down with pebbles from
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  Speaker 1: the shore. End of poem. This recording is in the
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  Speaker 1: public domain. The Fete by Charlotte Meu read for librovox
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  Speaker 1: dot Org by Michael Maggs The Fete to night again,
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  Speaker 1: the moon's white match stretches across the dormitory floor while outside,
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  Speaker 1: like an evil cat that Pierre prowls down the dark corridor,
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  Speaker 1: planning I know to pounce on me in spite for
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  Speaker 1: getting leave to sleep in town last night. But it
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  Speaker 1: was none of us that made that noise. Only the
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  Speaker 1: old brown owl that hoots and flies out of the ivy,
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  Speaker 1: he will say it was us boys, signor mon dieu,
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  Speaker 1: the sacrest soul of spies. He would like to catch
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  Speaker 1: each dream that lies hidden behind our sleepy eyes, their
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  Speaker 1: dream but mine. It is the moon and the wood
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  Speaker 1: that sees all my long life. How I shall hate
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  Speaker 1: the trees in the place darm the dusty plains, all
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  Speaker 1: summer through, dozed with the market women in the sun,
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  Speaker 1: and scarcely stirred to see the quiet things that crossed
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  Speaker 1: the square, a tiny funeral, the flying shadow of a bird,
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  Speaker 1: the humpbacked barber Celestine le Maire, old Madame Michel in
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  Speaker 1: a three wheeled chair and filing past the vespers too,
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  Speaker 1: and the dumaiselle of the Pulsiena, towed like a ship
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  Speaker 1: through the harbor, bar safe into port. While a patija
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  Speaker 1: zoo perhaps makes nothing of the look they shot at
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  Speaker 1: you see, said defon dou mecha vulevu. It was the sun.
• 8:19
  Speaker 1: The sunshine weaves a pattern on dull stones. The sunshine
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  Speaker 1: leaves the portraiture of dreams upon the eyes before it dies.
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  Speaker 1: All summer through the dust hung white upon the drowsy plains,
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  Speaker 1: till suddenly they woke with the autumn rains. It is
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  Speaker 1: not only the little boys who have hardly got away
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  Speaker 1: from toys, but I who am seventeen next year. Some
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  Speaker 1: nights in bed have grown cold to hear the lonely
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  Speaker 1: passion of the rain, which makes you think of being
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  Speaker 1: dead and of somewhere living. To lay your head as
• 9:01
  Speaker 1: if you were a child again, crying for one thing
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  Speaker 1: known and near your empty heart, to still the hunger
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  Speaker 1: and the fear that pelts and beats with it against
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  Speaker 1: the pane. But I remember smiling too at all the
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  Speaker 1: sun's soft tricks, and those autumn dreads in winter time,
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  Speaker 1: when the gray light broke slowly through the frosted window
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  Speaker 1: lace to drag us shivering from our beds, And when
• 9:33
  Speaker 1: at dusk the singing wind swung down straight from the
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  Speaker 1: stars to the dark country roads beyond the twinkling town,
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  Speaker 1: striking the leafless poplar boughs as he went by, like
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  Speaker 1: some poor stray dog by the wayside, lying dead. We
• 9:53
  Speaker 1: left behind us the old world of dread aye, and
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  Speaker 1: the wind as we strode whistling on under the winter sky.
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  Speaker 1: And then in spring for three days came the fair.
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  Speaker 1: Just as the plains were starting into bud. Above the caravans,
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  Speaker 1: you saw the dancing bear pass on his chain and
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  Speaker 1: heard the jingle and the thud. Only four days ago
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  Speaker 1: they let you out of this dull show to slither
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  Speaker 1: down the montaigneuse and chaff the man la tete de
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  Speaker 1: vaux hit slick the bull's eye at the tear, spin
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  Speaker 1: round and round to your head, went queer on the
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  Speaker 1: porc rulan oh la la la fete vapru d'uva a
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  Speaker 1: lotete a tete with the girl who sugars the quoth
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  Speaker 1: pouvrete how thin she was, but she smiled you bet
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  Speaker 1: as she took your tip. One does not forget the
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  Speaker 1: good days, monsieur said, with a grace. But sacrebleu, what
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  Speaker 1: a ghost of a face, and no fun too for
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  Speaker 1: the demoselle of the Pasiona, who were hurried past with
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  Speaker 1: the oh cusebu a kelle belle. A lupdog's life from
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  Speaker 1: first to last. The good nights are not made for sleep,
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  Speaker 1: nor the good days for dreaming. In and at the end,
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  Speaker 1: in the big circus tent, we sat and shook and
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  Speaker 1: stewed like sin. Some children there had got but were
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  Speaker 1: sent from the south, perhaps a red bouquet of roses,
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  Speaker 1: sweetening the fetid air with scent from gardens by some
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  Speaker 1: faraway blue bay. They threw one at the dancing bear.
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  Speaker 1: The white clown caught it from Saint Remy's tower. The
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  Speaker 1: deep slow bell told out the hour. The black clown
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  Speaker 1: with his dirty grin lay sprawling in the dust. As
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  Speaker 1: she rode in. She stood on a white horse. And
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  Speaker 1: suddenly you saw the bend of a far off road
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  Speaker 1: at dawn, with knights riding by a field of spears.
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  Speaker 1: Then the gallant day go out in storm, with ragged clouds,
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  Speaker 1: low down, sullen and gray, against red heavens, wild and awful,
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  Speaker 1: such a sky as witnesses against you at the end
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  Speaker 1: of a great battle, bugles blowing blood and dust. The
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  Speaker 1: old mort dartha fight you must it died in anger,
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  Speaker 1: But it was not death that had you by the throat,
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  Speaker 1: stopping your breast. She looked like victory. She rode by way,
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  Speaker 1: she laughed at the black clown, and then she flew
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  Speaker 1: a bird above us on the wing of her white arms,
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  Speaker 1: And you saw through a rent in the old tent,
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  Speaker 1: a patch of sky with one dim star. She flew,
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  Speaker 1: but not so high. And then she did not fly.
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  Speaker 1: She stood in the bright moonlight at the door of
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  Speaker 1: a strange room. She threw her slippers on the floor. Again.
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  Speaker 1: Again you heard the patter of the rain, the starving rain.
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  Speaker 1: It was this thing, summer, was this the golden mist
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  Speaker 1: in your eyes? Oh God, it dies. But after darth
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  Speaker 1: to night, the splendor and the sting blows back and
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  Speaker 1: catches at your breath. The smell of beasts, the smell
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  Speaker 1: of dust, the scent of all the roses in the world,
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  Speaker 1: the sea, the spring, the beat of drums, the pad
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  Speaker 1: of hoofs, music, the dree, the dream, the enchanted thing.
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  Speaker 1: At first you scarcely saw her face. You knew the
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  Speaker 1: maddening feet were there. What called was that half hidden
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  Speaker 1: white unrest to which now and then she pressed her
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  Speaker 1: finger tips. But as she slackened pace and turned and
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  Speaker 1: looked at you, it grew quite bare. There was not
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  Speaker 1: anything you did not dare Like trumpeters. The hours passed
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  Speaker 1: until the last day of the fair. In the plus
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  Speaker 1: dull all afternoon, the building birds had sung. Soon soon
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  Speaker 1: the shuttered streets slept son that night it was full moon.
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  Speaker 1: The path into the woods was almost white. The trees
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  Speaker 1: were very still and seemed to stare not far before
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  Speaker 1: your soul. The dream flits on, but when you touch
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  Speaker 1: it it is gone, and quite alone your soul stands there,
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  Speaker 1: Mother of Christ. No one has seen your eyes. How
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  Speaker 1: can men pray? Even unto you, there were only wolf's
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  Speaker 1: eyes in the wood. My mother is a woman too.
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  Speaker 1: Nothing is true that is not good. With that quick
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  Speaker 1: smile of hers, I have heard her say. I wish
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  Speaker 1: I had gone back home to day. I should have
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  Speaker 1: watched the lights that so gently dies from our high
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  Speaker 1: window in the Paris skies, the long straight chain of
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  Speaker 1: lamps hung out along the sand. I would have turned
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  Speaker 1: to her and let the rain beat on her breast
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  Speaker 1: as it does against the pane. Nothing will be the
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  Speaker 1: same again. There is something strange in my little mother's eyes.
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  Speaker 1: There is something new in the old heavenly air of spring,
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  Speaker 1: the smell of beasts, the smell of dust, the enchanted thing.
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  Speaker 1: All my life long I shall see moonlight on the
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  Speaker 1: fern and the black trunks of trees. Only the hair
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  Speaker 1: of any woman can belong to God. The stalks are
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  Speaker 1: cruelly broken. Where we trod, there have been violets there.
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  Speaker 1: I shall not care as I used to do when
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  Speaker 1: I see the bracken burn. End of poem. This recording
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  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Beside the bed, by shall
• 16:49
  Speaker 1: it mew red for LibriVox dot org by Michael MagX.
• 16:55
  Speaker 1: Beside the bed, someone has shut the shining eyes, eyes
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  Speaker 1: straightened and folded, the wandering hands quietly covering the unquiet breast,
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  Speaker 1: so smoothed and silenced. You lie like a child, not
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  Speaker 1: again to be questioned or scolded. But for you, not
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  Speaker 1: one of us believes that this is rest. Not so
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  Speaker 1: to close the windows down can cloud and deaden the
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  Speaker 1: blue beyond, or to screen the wavering flame subdue its breath.
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  Speaker 1: Why if I lay my cheek to your cheek, your
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  Speaker 1: gray lips like dawn, would quiver and redden, breaking into
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  Speaker 1: the old odd smile of this fraud of death. Because
• 17:49
  Speaker 1: all night you have not turned to us or spoken,
• 17:52
  Speaker 1: it is time for you to wake. Your dreams were
• 17:56
  Speaker 1: never very deep. I, for one, have seen the thin, bright,
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  Speaker 1: twisted threads of them, dimmed suddenly and broken. This is
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  Speaker 1: only a most piteous pretense of sleep. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. In Nunhead Cemetery
• 18:25
  Speaker 1: by Charlotte Mew read for LibriVox dot Org by Michael
• 18:30
  Speaker 1: Maggs In Nunhead Cemetery, it is the clay that makes
• 18:36
  Speaker 1: the earth stick to his spade. He fills in holes
• 18:40
  Speaker 1: like this year after year. The others have gone. They
• 18:44
  Speaker 1: were tired and half afraid. But I would rather be
• 18:49
  Speaker 1: standing here. There is nowhere else to go. I have
• 18:54
  Speaker 1: seen this place from the windows of the train that's
• 18:57
  Speaker 1: going past against the sky. This is rain on my face.
• 19:03
  Speaker 1: It was raining here when I saw it last. There
• 19:07
  Speaker 1: is something horrible about a flower. This broken in my
• 19:13
  Speaker 1: hand is one of those he threw in just now.
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  Speaker 1: It will not live another hour. There are thousands more.
• 19:22
  Speaker 1: You do not miss a rose. One of the children
• 19:26
  Speaker 1: hanging about pointed at the whole dreadful heap and smiled
• 19:31
  Speaker 1: this morning after that was carried out. There is something
• 19:36
  Speaker 1: terrible about a child. We were like children last week
• 19:42
  Speaker 1: in the strand. That was the day you laughed at
• 19:45
  Speaker 1: me because I tried to make you understand the cheap,
• 19:49
  Speaker 1: stale chap I used to be before I saw the
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  Speaker 1: things you made me see. This is not a real place.
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  Speaker 1: Perhaps by and by I shall wake. I am getting
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  Speaker 1: drenched with all this rain. To morrow I will tell
• 20:08
  Speaker 1: you about the eyes of the crystal Palace train looking
• 20:12
  Speaker 1: down on us, and you will laugh, and I shall
• 20:15
  Speaker 1: see what you see again. Not here, not now, we said,
• 20:23
  Speaker 1: not yet across our low stone parapet will the quick
• 20:27
  Speaker 1: shadows of the sparrows fall. But still it was a
• 20:31
  Speaker 1: lovely thing through the gray months to wait for spring,
• 20:35
  Speaker 1: with the birds that go a gipsying in the parks
• 20:38
  Speaker 1: till the blue seas call. And next to these you
• 20:43
  Speaker 1: used to care for the lions in Trafalgar Square, who
• 20:47
  Speaker 1: will stand and speak for London when her bell of
• 20:50
  Speaker 1: judgment tolls, And the gulls at Westminster that were the
• 20:55
  Speaker 1: old sea captain's souls. To day again the brown tied
• 21:02
  Speaker 1: splashes step by step the river stair, and the gulls
• 21:07
  Speaker 1: are there. By a month we have missed our day.
• 21:13
  Speaker 1: The children would have hung about round the carriage and
• 21:16
  Speaker 1: over the way as you and I came out. We
• 21:21
  Speaker 1: should have stood on the gull's black cliffs and heard
• 21:25
  Speaker 1: the sea and seen the moon's white track. I would
• 21:30
  Speaker 1: have called. You would have come to me and kiss
• 21:33
  Speaker 1: me back. You have never done that. I do not
• 21:38
  Speaker 1: know why I stood staring at your bed and heard you.
• 21:43
  Speaker 1: Though you spoke so low that I could not reach
• 21:46
  Speaker 1: your hands, your little head. There was nothing we could
• 21:51
  Speaker 1: not do, you said, and you went, and I let
• 21:55
  Speaker 1: you go. Now I will burn you back. I will
• 22:02
  Speaker 1: burn you through, though I am damned for it. We
• 22:06
  Speaker 1: too will lie and burn here where the starlings fly,
• 22:11
  Speaker 1: to these white stones from the wet sky. Dear you
• 22:17
  Speaker 1: will say, this is not I. It would not be you.
• 22:23
  Speaker 1: It would not be you. If for only a little
• 22:28
  Speaker 1: while you will think of it, you will understand. If
• 22:33
  Speaker 1: you will touch my sleeve and smile as you did
• 22:36
  Speaker 1: that morning in the strand. I can wait quietly with you,
• 22:42
  Speaker 1: or go away if you want me to God? What
• 22:46
  Speaker 1: is God? But your face has gone and your hand.
• 22:52
  Speaker 1: Let me stay here too. When I was quite a
• 22:57
  Speaker 1: little lad, at Christmas time, we went half mad for
• 23:02
  Speaker 1: joy of all the toys we had, And then we
• 23:06
  Speaker 1: used to sing about the sheep the shepherds watched by night.
• 23:10
  Speaker 1: We used to pray to Christ to keep our small
• 23:14
  Speaker 1: soul safe till morning light. I am scared. I am
• 23:20
  Speaker 1: staying with you to night. Put me to sleep. I
• 23:27
  Speaker 1: shall stay here. Here you can see the sky. The
• 23:32
  Speaker 1: houses in the streets are much too high. There is
• 23:36
  Speaker 1: no one left to speak to there. Here they are everywhere,
• 23:42
  Speaker 1: and just above them, fields and fields of roses lie.
• 23:47
  Speaker 1: If he would dig it all up again, they would
• 23:51
  Speaker 1: not die. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 23:57
  Speaker 1: public domain. The Pedlar by Shallope Mew Read philibrovox dot
• 24:08
  Speaker 1: Org by Michael Maaggs. The Pedlar lend me a little while,
• 24:15
  Speaker 1: the key that locks your heavy heart, and I'll give
• 24:19
  Speaker 1: you back rarer than books and ribbons and beads bright
• 24:23
  Speaker 1: to sea, this little key of dreams out of my pack.
• 24:29
  Speaker 1: The road, the road beyond men's bolted doors. There shall
• 24:34
  Speaker 1: I walk, and you go free of me? For yours
• 24:38
  Speaker 1: lies north across the moors, and mine's south to what sea.
• 24:45
  Speaker 1: How if we stopped and let our solemn souls go by,
• 24:49
  Speaker 1: while my gay ghost caught and kissed yours as ghosts
• 24:54
  Speaker 1: don't do, And by the wayside this forgotten you and
• 24:59
  Speaker 1: I sat, and we're twenty two. Give me the key
• 25:05
  Speaker 1: that locks your tired eyes, and I will lend you
• 25:09
  Speaker 1: this one from my pack, brighter than colored beads and
• 25:14
  Speaker 1: painted books. That make men wise. Take it no, give
• 25:19
  Speaker 1: it back. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 25:26
  Speaker 1: public domain. Peasureess by Charlocke Mew read for librovox dot
• 25:36
  Speaker 1: Org by Michael Maggs. Peasureess. Down the long Key, the
• 25:43
  Speaker 1: slow boats glide, while here and there a house looms
• 25:48
  Speaker 1: white against the gloom of the water side, and some
• 25:52
  Speaker 1: high window throws a light as they sail out into
• 25:56
  Speaker 1: the night. A dawn they will bring in again to
• 26:01
  Speaker 1: women knitting on the key, who wait for him, their
• 26:04
  Speaker 1: man of men. I stand with them and watch the sea,
• 26:09
  Speaker 1: which may have taken mine from me, Just so the
• 26:14
  Speaker 1: long days come and go the knights, Ma duay, The
• 26:19
  Speaker 1: nights are cold. Our lady's heart is as frozen snow.
• 26:24
  Speaker 1: Since this one sin I have not told, And I
• 26:28
  Speaker 1: shall die or perhaps grow old before he comes. The
• 26:34
  Speaker 1: foreign ships bring many, a one of faith and name
• 26:37
  Speaker 1: as strange as his, to buy your lips a gold
• 26:41
  Speaker 1: piece for a scarlet shame like mine, But mine was
• 26:46
  Speaker 1: not the same. One night was ours, one short gray
• 26:51
  Speaker 1: day of sudden sin, unshrived, untold. He found me, and
• 26:58
  Speaker 1: I lost the way to paradise for him. I sold
• 27:03
  Speaker 1: my soul for love and not for gold he bought
• 27:07
  Speaker 1: my soul. But even so my face is all that
• 27:11
  Speaker 1: he has seen. His is the only face I know.
• 27:16
  Speaker 1: And in the dark church, like a screen it shuts
• 27:20
  Speaker 1: God out. It comes between while in some narrow foreign street,
• 27:26
  Speaker 1: all loitering on the crowded key, who knows what others
• 27:31
  Speaker 1: he may meet to turn his eyes away from me?
• 27:35
  Speaker 1: Many affair to such as he. There is but one
• 27:40
  Speaker 1: for such as I to love, to hate, to hunger.
• 27:44
  Speaker 1: For I shall perhaps grow old and die with one
• 27:49
  Speaker 1: short day to spend and store one night in all
• 27:54
  Speaker 1: my life no more, Just so the long day come
• 28:00
  Speaker 1: and go. Yet this one sin I will not tell,
• 28:05
  Speaker 1: though Mary's heart is as frozen snow, and all nights
• 28:10
  Speaker 1: are cold. For one warned too well. But oh madue
• 28:16
  Speaker 1: the knights of Hell. End of poem. This recording is
• 28:24
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. The Changeling by Charlotte mw Read
• 28:33
  Speaker 1: for LibriVox dot Org by Michael Maggs. The Changeling toll
• 28:40
  Speaker 1: no bell for me, dear father, dear mother, waste no sighs.
• 28:45
  Speaker 1: There are my sisters, There is my little brother who
• 28:48
  Speaker 1: plays in the place called Paradise. Your children, all your children,
• 28:54
  Speaker 1: forever but I so wild. Your disgrace with a queer
• 29:00
  Speaker 1: round face was never never, I know, but half your child.
• 29:06
  Speaker 1: In the garden at play all day last summer, far
• 29:10
  Speaker 1: and away, I heard the sweet tweet tweet of a
• 29:13
  Speaker 1: strange newcomer, the dearest, clearest call of a bird. It
• 29:19
  Speaker 1: lived down there in the deep green hollow, my own
• 29:24
  Speaker 1: old home. And the fairy say the word of a
• 29:27
  Speaker 1: bird is a thing to follow. So I was away
• 29:31
  Speaker 1: for a night and a day one evening too, By
• 29:36
  Speaker 1: the nursery fire, we snuggled close and sat round so still,
• 29:41
  Speaker 1: when suddenly, as the wind blew higher, something scratched on
• 29:45
  Speaker 1: the window sill. A pinched brown face peered in. I shivered.
• 29:52
  Speaker 1: No one listened or seemed to see. The arms of
• 29:56
  Speaker 1: it waved, and the wings of it quivered. Wooh, I
• 29:59
  Speaker 1: knew it come for me, summer as bad as bad
• 30:03
  Speaker 1: can be. All night long, they danced in the rain,
• 30:09
  Speaker 1: round and round in a dripping chain. They threw their
• 30:12
  Speaker 1: caps at the window pane, tried to make me scream
• 30:16
  Speaker 1: and shout, and fling the bedclothes all about. I meant
• 30:21
  Speaker 1: to stay in bed that night, And if only you
• 30:25
  Speaker 1: had left a light, they never would have got me out.
• 30:31
  Speaker 1: Sometimes I wouldn't speak, you see, or answer when you
• 30:35
  Speaker 1: spoke to me, because in the long still dusks of spring,
• 30:40
  Speaker 1: you can hear the whole world whispering. The shy green
• 30:45
  Speaker 1: grass is making love, the feathers grow on the deer
• 30:49
  Speaker 1: gray dove, the tiny heart of the red start beat,
• 30:53
  Speaker 1: the patter of the squirrel's feet, the pebbles pushing in
• 30:58
  Speaker 1: the silver streams, the rushes talking in their dreams, the
• 31:03
  Speaker 1: swish of the bat's black wings, the wild wood bluebells,
• 31:08
  Speaker 1: sweet ting tings, humming and hammering at your ear. Everything
• 31:14
  Speaker 1: there is to hear in the heart of hidden things,
• 31:18
  Speaker 1: but not in the midst of the nursery riot. That's
• 31:23
  Speaker 1: why I wanted to be quiet. Couldn't do my sums
• 31:28
  Speaker 1: or sing or settle down to anything. And when for
• 31:33
  Speaker 1: that I was sent upstairs, I did kneel down to
• 31:36
  Speaker 1: say my prayers. But the king who sits on your
• 31:41
  Speaker 1: high church steeple has nothing to do with us fairy people.
• 31:47
  Speaker 1: Times I pleased you, dear father, dear mother, learned all
• 31:51
  Speaker 1: my lessons and liked to play, and dearly I loved
• 31:56
  Speaker 1: the little pale brother whom some other bird might have
• 32:00
  Speaker 1: called away. Why did they bring me here to make
• 32:04
  Speaker 1: me not quite bad and not quite good? Why unless
• 32:09
  Speaker 1: they're wicked, do they want in spite to take me
• 32:14
  Speaker 1: back to their wet wild wood. Now every night I
• 32:19
  Speaker 1: shall see the windows shining, the gold lamps glow, and
• 32:24
  Speaker 1: the fire's red gleam, while the best of us are
• 32:27
  Speaker 1: twining twigs, and the rest of us are whining in
• 32:31
  Speaker 1: the hollow by the stream. Black and chill are their
• 32:36
  Speaker 1: nights on the world, And they live so long, and
• 32:39
  Speaker 1: they feel no pain. I shall grow up, but never
• 32:44
  Speaker 1: grow old. I shall always always be very cold. I
• 32:49
  Speaker 1: shall never come back again. End of poem. This recording
• 32:57
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Ken by Charlotte mw Read
• 33:06
  Speaker 1: for librovox dot Org by Michael max Ken. The town
• 33:13
  Speaker 1: is old and very steep, a place of bells and cloisters,
• 33:17
  Speaker 1: and gray towers, and black clad people walking in their sleep,
• 33:22
  Speaker 1: and none a priest, a woman taking flowers to her
• 33:27
  Speaker 1: new grave, and watched from end to end by the
• 33:31
  Speaker 1: great church above through the still hours. But in the
• 33:36
  Speaker 1: morning and the early dark the children wake to dart
• 33:40
  Speaker 1: from doors and call down the wide crooked street, where
• 33:45
  Speaker 1: at the bend before it climbs up to the park.
• 33:48
  Speaker 1: Ken's is the gabled house facing the castle wall. When
• 33:54
  Speaker 1: first I came upon him there suddenly on the half
• 33:58
  Speaker 1: lit stair, I think, think, I hardly found a trace
• 34:02
  Speaker 1: of likeness to a human face in his And I said, then,
• 34:08
  Speaker 1: if in his image God made men, some other must
• 34:12
  Speaker 1: have made poor. Can But for his eyes, which looked
• 34:17
  Speaker 1: at you as two red wounded stars might do, he
• 34:22
  Speaker 1: scarcely spoke you, scarcely heard his voice broke off in
• 34:27
  Speaker 1: little jars to tears. Sometime an uncouth bird, he seem'd
• 34:33
  Speaker 1: as he plowed up the street, groping with gnarred, high
• 34:37
  Speaker 1: lifted feet and arms thrust out as if to beat
• 34:41
  Speaker 1: always against a threat of bars, and oftener than not
• 34:47
  Speaker 1: there be a child just higher than his knee, trotting
• 34:52
  Speaker 1: beside him through his dim long twilight. This at least
• 34:58
  Speaker 1: shone clear that all the children and the deer whom
• 35:03
  Speaker 1: every day he went to see out in the park
• 35:07
  Speaker 1: belonged to him. God help the fault that next him sits.
• 35:13
  Speaker 1: He fidgets so with his poor wits, the neighbor said,
• 35:17
  Speaker 1: on Sunday nights, when he will go to church to
• 35:21
  Speaker 1: see the lights, though for these he used to fix
• 35:26
  Speaker 1: his eyes upon a crucifix in a dark corner, staring
• 35:32
  Speaker 1: on till everybody else had gone. And sometimes in his
• 35:38
  Speaker 1: evil fits, you could not move him from his chair.
• 35:42
  Speaker 1: You did not look at him as he sat there,
• 35:46
  Speaker 1: biting his rosary to bits, while pointing to the Christ.
• 35:50
  Speaker 1: He tried to say, take it away. Nothing was dead,
• 35:57
  Speaker 1: he said, a bird if he picked up a broken wing,
• 36:01
  Speaker 1: a perish leaf, for any such thing was just a rose.
• 36:06
  Speaker 1: And once, when I had said he must not stand
• 36:10
  Speaker 1: and knock there any more, he left a twig on
• 36:13
  Speaker 1: the mat outside my door. Not long ago, the last
• 36:19
  Speaker 1: thrush stiffened in the snow, while black against the sullen sky,
• 36:24
  Speaker 1: the sighing pines stood by. But now the wind has
• 36:29
  Speaker 1: left our rattle pane to flutter the hedge sparrow's wing.
• 36:34
  Speaker 1: The birches in the wood are red again. And only
• 36:38
  Speaker 1: yesterday the larks went up a little way to sing
• 36:42
  Speaker 1: what lovers say who loiter in the lanes. To day
• 36:46
  Speaker 1: the buds begin to talk of may with learned rooks
• 36:50
  Speaker 1: on city trees. And if God please, with all of these,
• 36:56
  Speaker 1: we too shall see another spring. But in that red
• 37:02
  Speaker 1: brick barn upon the hill, I wonder can one own
• 37:07
  Speaker 1: the deer? And does one walk with children still as
• 37:12
  Speaker 1: one did? Here? Do roses grow beneath those twenty windows
• 37:19
  Speaker 1: in a row? And if some night, when you have
• 37:23
  Speaker 1: not seen any light, they cannot move you from your chair?
• 37:29
  Speaker 1: What happens there? I do not know. So when they
• 37:35
  Speaker 1: took ken to that place, I did not look. After
• 37:40
  Speaker 1: he called and turned on me his eyes these I
• 37:46
  Speaker 1: shall see. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 37:52
  Speaker 1: public domain. Acqua pontil Shallop Mew read for LibriVox dot
• 38:02
  Speaker 1: Org by Michael Maggs A quabon, Dear, seventeen years ago,
• 38:09
  Speaker 1: you said something that sounded like good bye. And everybody
• 38:14
  Speaker 1: thinks that you are dead, But I so I, as
• 38:20
  Speaker 1: I grow stiff and cold to this and that, say
• 38:23
  Speaker 1: goodbye too. And everybody sees that I am old, but you.
• 38:30
  Speaker 1: One fine morning in a sunny lane, some boy and
• 38:34
  Speaker 1: girl will meet and kiss and swear that nobody can
• 38:38
  Speaker 1: love their way again, while over there you will have smiled.
• 38:44
  Speaker 1: I shall have tossed your hair. End of poem. This
• 38:51
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. The Quiet House by
• 39:01
  Speaker 1: Charlotte Mew read for librovox dot Org by Michael Max
• 39:07
  Speaker 1: The quiet house. When we were children, old nurse used
• 39:13
  Speaker 1: to say the house was like an auction or a
• 39:16
  Speaker 1: fair until the lot of us were safe in bed.
• 39:20
  Speaker 1: It has been quiet as the countryside since Ted and Janey,
• 39:24
  Speaker 1: and then mother died, and Tom crossed father and was
• 39:28
  Speaker 1: sent away after the lawsuit. He could not hold up
• 39:32
  Speaker 1: his head, poor father, and he does not care for
• 39:36
  Speaker 1: people here or to go anywhere. To get away to
• 39:41
  Speaker 1: aunt's for that week end was hard enough. Since then
• 39:46
  Speaker 1: a year ago, he scarcely lets me slip out of
• 39:49
  Speaker 1: his sight. At first, I did not like my cousin's friend.
• 39:55
  Speaker 1: I did not think I should remember him. His voice
• 39:58
  Speaker 1: has gone, his face is growing dim, And if I
• 40:03
  Speaker 1: like him now, I do not know. He frightened me
• 40:07
  Speaker 1: before he smiled. He did not ask me if he might.
• 40:11
  Speaker 1: He said that he would come one Sunday night. He
• 40:15
  Speaker 1: spoke to me as if I were a child. No
• 40:19
  Speaker 1: year has been like this that has just gone by.
• 40:23
  Speaker 1: It may be that what father says is true. If
• 40:27
  Speaker 1: things are so, it does not matter why. But everything
• 40:32
  Speaker 1: has burned, and not quite through. The colors of the
• 40:37
  Speaker 1: world have turned to flame. The blue, the gold has
• 40:41
  Speaker 1: burned in what used to be such a leaden sky.
• 40:46
  Speaker 1: When you are burned quite through, you die, red is
• 40:51
  Speaker 1: the strangest pain to bear. In spring, the leaves on
• 40:56
  Speaker 1: the budding trees. In summer, the row ouses are worse
• 41:00
  Speaker 1: than these, more terrible than they are sweeter. Rose can
• 41:05
  Speaker 1: stab you across the street deeper than any knife, and
• 41:11
  Speaker 1: the crimson haunts you everywhere. Thin shafts of sunlight, like
• 41:17
  Speaker 1: the ghosts of red and swords, have struck our stair,
• 41:21
  Speaker 1: as if coming down you had spilt your life. I
• 41:26
  Speaker 1: think that my soul is red, like the soul of
• 41:29
  Speaker 1: a sword or a scarlet flower. But when these are dead,
• 41:34
  Speaker 1: they have had their hour. I shall have had mine too,
• 41:39
  Speaker 1: For from head to feet I am burned and stabb'd
• 41:43
  Speaker 1: half through, And the pain is deadly sweet. The things
• 41:49
  Speaker 1: that kill us seem blind to the death they give.
• 41:54
  Speaker 1: It is only in our dream the things that kill
• 41:58
  Speaker 1: us live. The room is shut where mother died. The
• 42:04
  Speaker 1: other rooms are as they were. The world goes on
• 42:08
  Speaker 1: the same outside. The sparrows fly across the square, the
• 42:13
  Speaker 1: children play as we four did there. The trees grow
• 42:18
  Speaker 1: green and brown and bare. The sun shines on the
• 42:22
  Speaker 1: dead church spire, and nothing lives here but the fire,
• 42:28
  Speaker 1: while father watches from his chair. Day follows day the same,
• 42:35
  Speaker 1: or now and then a different gray till like his hair,
• 42:40
  Speaker 1: which mother said was wavy once and bright. They will
• 42:45
  Speaker 1: all turn white to night. I heard a bell again outside.
• 42:52
  Speaker 1: It was the same mist of fine rain. The lamps
• 42:56
  Speaker 1: just lighted down the long dim street. No one for me.
• 43:03
  Speaker 1: I think it is myself I go to meet. I
• 43:07
  Speaker 1: do not care. Some day I shall not think, I
• 43:13
  Speaker 1: shall not be. End of poem. This recording is in
• 43:20
  Speaker 1: the public domain. On the Asylum Road by Shallocke Mew
• 43:30
  Speaker 1: read for LibriVox dot Org by Michael Maggs. On the
• 43:35
  Speaker 1: Asylum Road, theirs is the house's windows. Every pane are
• 43:41
  Speaker 1: made of darkly stained or clouded glass. Sometimes you come
• 43:46
  Speaker 1: upon them in the lane, the saddest crowd that you
• 43:49
  Speaker 1: will ever pass. But still we merry town or village
• 43:55
  Speaker 1: folk throw to their scattered stair a kindly grin, and
• 44:00
  Speaker 1: think no shame to stop and crack a joke with
• 44:03
  Speaker 1: the incarnate wages of man's sin. None but ourselves in
• 44:09
  Speaker 1: our long gallery we meet the moor Hens, stepping from
• 44:14
  Speaker 1: her reeds with dainty feet. The hare bell bowing on
• 44:18
  Speaker 1: his stem dance. Not with us their pulses beat to
• 44:23
  Speaker 1: fainter music, Nor do we to them make their life
• 44:28
  Speaker 1: sweet the gayest crowd that they will ever pass. Are
• 44:34
  Speaker 1: we to brother shadows in the lane? Our windows too
• 44:39
  Speaker 1: are clouded glass to them, Yes, every pane. End of poem.
• 44:48
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Jour des Mours
• 44:58
  Speaker 1: by Sharlock Mew for LibriVox dot org by Michael Maggs.
• 45:03
  Speaker 1: Jeurle des morts, simitiel Montpernauth, sweetheart, is this the last
• 45:11
  Speaker 1: of all our posies and little festivals? My flowers? Are
• 45:16
  Speaker 1: they but white and wistful ghosts of gayer roses? Shut?
• 45:20
  Speaker 1: With you in this grim garden? Not to day? Ah, No,
• 45:27
  Speaker 1: come out with me before the gray gate closes. It
• 45:31
  Speaker 1: is your fete and here is your bouquet. End of poem.
• 45:38
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. The Forest Road
• 45:48
  Speaker 1: by Charlotte Mew read for LibriVox dot org by Michael
• 45:52
  Speaker 1: mags The Forest Road, the forest road, the infinite straight road,
• 46:01
  Speaker 1: stretching away world without end, The breathless road between the
• 46:06
  Speaker 1: walls of the black, listening trees, the hushed gray road
• 46:12
  Speaker 1: beyond the window that you shut to night, crying that
• 46:16
  Speaker 1: you would look at it by day. There is a
• 46:19
  Speaker 1: shadow there that sings and calls, but not for you,
• 46:24
  Speaker 1: oh hidden eyes that plead in sleep against the lonely dark.
• 46:30
  Speaker 1: If I could touch the fear and leave it kissed
• 46:33
  Speaker 1: away on quiet lids, If I could hush those hands
• 46:38
  Speaker 1: that are half awake groping for me in sleep, I
• 46:42
  Speaker 1: could go free. I wish that God would take them
• 46:47
  Speaker 1: out of mine and fold them like the wings of
• 46:51
  Speaker 1: frightened birds, shot cruelly down, but fluttering into quietness, so
• 46:56
  Speaker 1: soon broken forgotten things. There is no grief for them
• 47:01
  Speaker 1: in the green spring, when the new birds fly back
• 47:04
  Speaker 1: to the old trees. But it shall not be so
• 47:08
  Speaker 1: with you. I will look back. I wish I knew
• 47:13
  Speaker 1: that God would stand smiling and looking down on you
• 47:17
  Speaker 1: when morning comes, to hold you when you wake closer
• 47:21
  Speaker 1: than I so gently, though not with famished lips or
• 47:27
  Speaker 1: hungry arms. He does not hurt the frailest, dearest things
• 47:33
  Speaker 1: as we do in the dark. See, dear your hair.
• 47:39
  Speaker 1: I must unloose this hair that sleeps and dreams about
• 47:43
  Speaker 1: my face, and clings like the brown weed to drowned
• 47:48
  Speaker 1: delivered things. Tossed by the tired sea back to the beeches.
• 47:55
  Speaker 1: Oh your hair. If you had lain a long, tined
• 48:00
  Speaker 1: dead on the rough, glistening ledge of some black cliff,
• 48:04
  Speaker 1: forgotten by the tide, the raving winds would tear, the
• 48:09
  Speaker 1: dripping brine, would rust away fold after fold of all
• 48:14
  Speaker 1: the loveliness that wrapped you round and makes you lying here,
• 48:19
  Speaker 1: the passionate fragrance that the roses are, but death would
• 48:25
  Speaker 1: spare the glory of your head. In the long sweetness
• 48:30
  Speaker 1: of the hair that does not dye, the spray would
• 48:34
  Speaker 1: leap to it in every storm. The scent of the
• 48:37
  Speaker 1: unsilenced sea would linger on in those dark waves, and
• 48:42
  Speaker 1: round the silence that was you. Only the nesting girls
• 48:46
  Speaker 1: would hear, But there would still be whispers in your hair.
• 48:52
  Speaker 1: Keep them for me, Keep them for me. What is
• 48:58
  Speaker 1: the singing on the that makes all other music like
• 49:02
  Speaker 1: the music in a dream, dumb to the dancing and
• 49:06
  Speaker 1: the marching feet. You know in dreams you see old
• 49:12
  Speaker 1: pipers playing that you cannot hear, and ghostly drums that
• 49:16
  Speaker 1: only seem to beat. This seems to climb. Is it
• 49:22
  Speaker 1: the music of a larger place? It makes our room
• 49:27
  Speaker 1: too small? It is like a stair, a calling stairs
• 49:32
  Speaker 1: that climbs up to a smile you scarcely see, dim
• 49:37
  Speaker 1: but so waited for. And you know what a smile is,
• 49:41
  Speaker 1: how it calls. How if I smiled, you always ran
• 49:46
  Speaker 1: to me. Now you must sleep forgetfully as children do.
• 49:53
  Speaker 1: There is a spirit sits by us in sleep, nearer
• 49:57
  Speaker 1: than those who walk with us in the bright day.
• 50:01
  Speaker 1: I think he has a tranquil saving face. I think
• 50:06
  Speaker 1: he came straight from the hills. He may have suffered
• 50:11
  Speaker 1: there in time gone by, and once from those forsaken heights,
• 50:17
  Speaker 1: looked down lonely himself on all the lonely sorrows of
• 50:23
  Speaker 1: the earth. It is his kingdom sleep. If I could
• 50:30
  Speaker 1: leave you there, if without waking you, I could get
• 50:35
  Speaker 1: up and reach the door we used to go together.
• 50:41
  Speaker 1: Shut scared eyes, poor desolate, desperate hands. It is not
• 50:46
  Speaker 1: I who thrust you off. No, take your hands away.
• 50:51
  Speaker 1: I cannot strike your lonely hands. Yes, I have struck
• 50:56
  Speaker 1: your heart. It did not come so near. Then lie you,
• 51:02
  Speaker 1: their dear and wild heart, behind this quivering snow with
• 51:07
  Speaker 1: two red stains on it. And I will strike and
• 51:12
  Speaker 1: tem mine out and scatter it to yours. Oh, throbbing dust,
• 51:18
  Speaker 1: You that were life are little wind blown. Hearts the road,
• 51:25
  Speaker 1: the road, There is a shadow there. I see my soul.
• 51:31
  Speaker 1: I hear my soul singing among the trees. End of poem.
• 51:40
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Madeline in Church,
• 51:50
  Speaker 1: I shall ape Mew read for LibriVox dot Org by
• 51:53
  Speaker 1: Michael Maggs. Madeline in Church. Here in the darkness, where
• 52:00
  Speaker 1: this plaster saint stands nearer than God stands to our distress,
• 52:05
  Speaker 1: and one small candle shines, but not so faint as
• 52:09
  Speaker 1: the far lights of everlastingness. I'd rather kneel than over
• 52:14
  Speaker 1: there in open day where Christ is hanging, rather pray
• 52:18
  Speaker 1: to something more like my own clay, not too divine.
• 52:24
  Speaker 1: For once, perhaps my little saint, before he got his
• 52:27
  Speaker 1: niche and crown, at one short strawl about the town.
• 52:32
  Speaker 1: It brings him closer, just that taint, And any one
• 52:37
  Speaker 1: can wash the paint of our poor faces, his and mine.
• 52:43
  Speaker 1: Is that why I see Monty now he call to
• 52:47
  Speaker 1: any saint, poor boy and good as gold, but still
• 52:52
  Speaker 1: with just the proper trace of earthliness on his shining
• 52:55
  Speaker 1: wedding face, And then gone suddenly blank and old. The
• 53:01
  Speaker 1: hateful day of the divorce. Stuart got his hands down,
• 53:06
  Speaker 1: of course, crowing like twenty cocks and grinning like a horse.
• 53:11
  Speaker 1: But Monty took it hard. All said and done, I
• 53:15
  Speaker 1: liked him best. He was the first. He stands out
• 53:19
  Speaker 1: clearer than the rest. It seems too funny. All we
• 53:24
  Speaker 1: other rips should have immortal souls. Monty and Wredge quite
• 53:30
  Speaker 1: damnably keep theirs afloat while we go down like scuttled ships.
• 53:36
  Speaker 1: It's funny too, how easily we sink. One might put
• 53:41
  Speaker 1: up a monument, I think, to half the world and
• 53:44
  Speaker 1: cut across it lost at sea. I should drown Jim,
• 53:49
  Speaker 1: poor little sparrow, if I netted him to night. Now
• 53:53
  Speaker 1: it's no use this penny light, or my poor saint
• 53:57
  Speaker 1: with his tin pot crown the trees of Calvary, how
• 54:01
  Speaker 1: where they were? When we are sure that we can
• 54:06
  Speaker 1: spare the tallest, let us go and strike it down
• 54:10
  Speaker 1: and leave the other two still standing there. I too
• 54:15
  Speaker 1: would ask him to remember me if there were any
• 54:18
  Speaker 1: paradise beyond this earth that I could see, Oh, quiet Christ,
• 54:26
  Speaker 1: who never knew the poisonous fangs that bite us through
• 54:30
  Speaker 1: and make us do the things we do. See how
• 54:35
  Speaker 1: we suffer and fight and die, how helpless and how
• 54:39
  Speaker 1: low we lie. God holds you, and you hang so high,
• 54:45
  Speaker 1: though no one looking long at you can think you
• 54:48
  Speaker 1: do not suffer too. But up there from your still
• 54:54
  Speaker 1: starlighted tree, what can you know? What can you really
• 54:59
  Speaker 1: see of this dark ditch? The soul of me? We
• 55:05
  Speaker 1: are what we are. When I was half a child,
• 55:09
  Speaker 1: I could not sit watching black shadows on green lawns,
• 55:13
  Speaker 1: and red carnations burning in the sun without paying so
• 55:18
  Speaker 1: heavily for it, that joy and pain, like any mother
• 55:22
  Speaker 1: and her unborn child were almost one. I could hardly
• 55:27
  Speaker 1: bear the dreams upon the eyes of the white geraniums
• 55:31
  Speaker 1: in the dusk, the thick, close voice of musk, the
• 55:36
  Speaker 1: Jessamine music on the thin night air, or sometimes my
• 55:41
  Speaker 1: own hands about me anywhere, the sight of my own face,
• 55:47
  Speaker 1: for it was lovely then, even the scent of my
• 55:50
  Speaker 1: own hair. Oh, there was nothing, nothing that did not
• 55:55
  Speaker 1: sweep to the high seat of laughing gods, and then
• 55:59
  Speaker 1: blowed down and beat my soul into the highway dust,
• 56:04
  Speaker 1: as hoofs do the dropp'd roses of the street. I
• 56:09
  Speaker 1: think my body was my soul. And when we are
• 56:13
  Speaker 1: made thus who shall control our hands, our eyes, the
• 56:19
  Speaker 1: wandering passion of our feet, Who shall teach us to
• 56:23
  Speaker 1: thrust the world out of a heart, to say till
• 56:27
  Speaker 1: perhaps in death, when the race is run, and it
• 56:30
  Speaker 1: is forced from us with our last breath, Thy will
• 56:35
  Speaker 1: be done, if it is your will that we should
• 56:39
  Speaker 1: be content with the same bloodless things as pale as
• 56:44
  Speaker 1: angels smirking by with folded wings. Oh, I know virtue
• 56:50
  Speaker 1: in the peace. It brings the temperate, well worn smile
• 56:55
  Speaker 1: that one man gives you when you are ever more
• 56:59
  Speaker 1: his own. And afterwards the child's for a little while,
• 57:04
  Speaker 1: with its unknowing and all seeing eyes so soon to change,
• 57:10
  Speaker 1: and make you feel how quick the clock goes round?
• 57:15
  Speaker 1: If one had learned the trick, how does one though,
• 57:19
  Speaker 1: quite early on, of long green pastures under placid skies,
• 57:24
  Speaker 1: one might be walking now with patient truth? What did
• 57:29
  Speaker 1: we ever care for it? Who have asked for youth? When, oh,
• 57:34
  Speaker 1: my God, is his going or has gone? There is
• 57:39
  Speaker 1: a portrait of my mother at nineteen, with the black
• 57:43
  Speaker 1: spaniel standing by the garden seat, the dainty head held
• 57:48
  Speaker 1: high against the painted green, and throwing out the youngest smile,
• 57:54
  Speaker 1: shy but half haughty and half sweet. A picture then,
• 57:59
  Speaker 1: but simply youth, or simply spring to me to day,
• 58:04
  Speaker 1: A radiance on the wall, so exquisite, so heart breaking,
• 58:09
  Speaker 1: a thing beside the mask that I remember, shrunk and small,
• 58:15
  Speaker 1: sapless and lined like a dead leaf, all that was
• 58:19
  Speaker 1: left of, oh, the loveliest face by time and grief.
• 58:26
  Speaker 1: And in the glass last night I saw a ghost
• 58:29
  Speaker 1: behind my chair. Yet why remember it when one can
• 58:34
  Speaker 1: still go moderately gay, or could with any of the
• 58:38
  Speaker 1: old crew. But oh, these boys, the solemn way they
• 58:44
  Speaker 1: take you, and the things they say, this I have
• 58:48
  Speaker 1: only as long as you when you remind them that
• 58:51
  Speaker 1: you are not precisely twenty two. Though at heart, perhaps God,
• 58:56
  Speaker 1: if it were only the face, only the hair, if
• 59:01
  Speaker 1: Jim had written to me as he did to day
• 59:04
  Speaker 1: a year ago, and now it leaves me cold, I
• 59:09
  Speaker 1: know what it means, this old, old old aeviksa mayor
• 59:15
  Speaker 1: avecu to supay, that is not always true. There was
• 59:22
  Speaker 1: my mother, well, at least the dead, a free yoked
• 59:26
  Speaker 1: to the man. That father was yoked to the woman.
• 59:29
  Speaker 1: I am Monty too, the little portress at the convent school,
• 59:34
  Speaker 1: stewing in hell, so patiently the poor fair boy who
• 59:40
  Speaker 1: shot himself at x And what of me? And what
• 59:44
  Speaker 1: of me? But I I paid for what I had,
• 59:48
  Speaker 1: and they for nothing. No one cannot see how it
• 59:53
  Speaker 1: shall be made up to them in some serene eternity.
• 59:58
  Speaker 1: If they were fifty heavens, God could not give us
• 1:00:01
  Speaker 1: back the child who went or never came here on
• 1:00:07
  Speaker 1: our little patch of this great earth. The sun of
• 1:00:10
  Speaker 1: any darkened day, not one of all. The starry buds
• 1:00:14
  Speaker 1: hung on the hawthorn trees of last year's may no
• 1:00:19
  Speaker 1: shadow from the sloping fields of yesterday. For every hour
• 1:00:24
  Speaker 1: they slant across the hedge a different way, the shadows
• 1:00:28
  Speaker 1: are never the same. Find rest in him, one knows.
• 1:00:35
  Speaker 1: The parsons tags back to the fold across the evening
• 1:00:39
  Speaker 1: fields like any flock of buying sheep. Yes, it may
• 1:00:44
  Speaker 1: be when he has shorn, led us to slaughter, torn
• 1:00:48
  Speaker 1: the bleating soul in us to rags, For so he
• 1:00:52
  Speaker 1: giveth his beloved sleep. Oh he will take us, stripped
• 1:00:58
  Speaker 1: and done, driven into his heart. So we are one
• 1:01:04
  Speaker 1: then safe, Safe are we in the shelter of his
• 1:01:08
  Speaker 1: everlasting wings. I do not envy him his victories. His
• 1:01:14
  Speaker 1: arms are full of broken things. But I shall not
• 1:01:19
  Speaker 1: be in them. Let him take the finer ones, the
• 1:01:23
  Speaker 1: easier to break, And they are not gone yet for me.
• 1:01:28
  Speaker 1: The lights, the colors, the perfumes, though now they speak
• 1:01:33
  Speaker 1: rather in sumptuous rooms, in silks, and in gem like wines. Here,
• 1:01:39
  Speaker 1: even in this corner where my little candle shines, and
• 1:01:43
  Speaker 1: overhead the lancet window glows with golds and crimsons, you
• 1:01:49
  Speaker 1: could almost drink to know how jewels taste, just as
• 1:01:54
  Speaker 1: I used to think there was the scent in every
• 1:01:57
  Speaker 1: red and yellow rose of all the sightsets. But this
• 1:02:02
  Speaker 1: place is gray and much too quiet. No one here,
• 1:02:08
  Speaker 1: Why this is awful, This is fear. Nothing to see,
• 1:02:13
  Speaker 1: no face, nothing to hear except your heart beating in space,
• 1:02:18
  Speaker 1: as if the world was ended, dead at last, dead soul,
• 1:02:24
  Speaker 1: dead body, tied together fast, these to go on with
• 1:02:29
  Speaker 1: and alone to the slow end. No one to sit
• 1:02:34
  Speaker 1: with really, or to speak to friend to friend out
• 1:02:38
  Speaker 1: of the long procession, black or white or red. No
• 1:02:43
  Speaker 1: one left now to say still I am here. Then,
• 1:02:47
  Speaker 1: see you, dear. They hear your head only the doll's house,
• 1:02:52
  Speaker 1: looking on the park to night, all nights. I know
• 1:02:56
  Speaker 1: when the man puts the lights out, very dark, withers
• 1:03:01
  Speaker 1: upstairs in the blue and gold box of the room,
• 1:03:05
  Speaker 1: just the maid's footsteps overhead, Then at a silence, and
• 1:03:10
  Speaker 1: the empty world, the room, the bed, the corpse. No,
• 1:03:16
  Speaker 1: not quite dead, while this cries out in me, but
• 1:03:20
  Speaker 1: nearly very soon to be a handful of forgotten dust.
• 1:03:27
  Speaker 1: There must be someone Christ there, must tell me. There
• 1:03:32
  Speaker 1: will be someone who if there were no one else,
• 1:03:38
  Speaker 1: could it be you? How old was Mary, out of
• 1:03:43
  Speaker 1: whom you cast so many devils? Was she young? Or
• 1:03:48
  Speaker 1: perhaps for years had sat staring with dry eyes at
• 1:03:52
  Speaker 1: this and that man going past, till suddenly she saw
• 1:03:56
  Speaker 1: you on the steps of Simon's house, and stood and
• 1:04:00
  Speaker 1: looked at you through tears. I think she must have
• 1:04:04
  Speaker 1: known by those the thing for what it was that
• 1:04:07
  Speaker 1: had come to her. For some of us there is
• 1:04:11
  Speaker 1: a passion, I suppose, so far from earthly cares and
• 1:04:15
  Speaker 1: earthly fears, that in its stillness you can hardly stir,
• 1:04:19
  Speaker 1: or in its nearness lift your hand so great that
• 1:04:23
  Speaker 1: you have simply got to stand looking at it through tears,
• 1:04:27
  Speaker 1: through tears. Then straight from these there broke the kiss.
• 1:04:33
  Speaker 1: I think you must have known by this the thing
• 1:04:37
  Speaker 1: for what it was. That had come to you. She
• 1:04:41
  Speaker 1: did not love you like the rest. It was in
• 1:04:44
  Speaker 1: her own way, but at worst the best she gave
• 1:04:49
  Speaker 1: you something altogether new, And through it all from her
• 1:04:54
  Speaker 1: no word. She scarcely saw you, scarcely heard. Surely you
• 1:05:00
  Speaker 1: knew when she so touched you with her hair, all
• 1:05:04
  Speaker 1: by the wet cheek, lying there, and while her perfume
• 1:05:08
  Speaker 1: clung to you from head to feet all through the day,
• 1:05:12
  Speaker 1: that you can change the things for which we care,
• 1:05:16
  Speaker 1: but even you unless you kill us. Not the way
• 1:05:22
  Speaker 1: this then was peace for her, but passion too. I wonder,
• 1:05:28
  Speaker 1: was it like a kiss that, once I knew, the
• 1:05:32
  Speaker 1: only one that I would care to take into the
• 1:05:35
  Speaker 1: grave with me, to which, if there were afterwards to
• 1:05:40
  Speaker 1: wake almost as happy as the carven dead in some
• 1:05:45
  Speaker 1: dim chancel. Lying head by head, we slept with it,
• 1:05:51
  Speaker 1: but face to face the whole night, through one breath,
• 1:05:56
  Speaker 1: one throbbing quietness, as if the thing behind our lips
• 1:06:02
  Speaker 1: was endless, life lost. As I awoke to hear in
• 1:06:07
  Speaker 1: the strange earthly dawn, his are you there? And lie
• 1:06:12
  Speaker 1: still listening to the wind outside among the firs. So
• 1:06:20
  Speaker 1: Mary chose the dream of him for what was left
• 1:06:23
  Speaker 1: to her of night and day. It is the only truth.
• 1:06:28
  Speaker 1: It is the dream in us that neither life, nor death,
• 1:06:32
  Speaker 1: nor any other thing can take away. But if she
• 1:06:36
  Speaker 1: had not touched him in the doorway of the dream,
• 1:06:40
  Speaker 1: could she have cared so much? She was a sinner.
• 1:06:45
  Speaker 1: We are what we are, the spirit afterwards, but first
• 1:06:50
  Speaker 1: the touch. And he has never shared with me my
• 1:06:56
  Speaker 1: haunted house beneath the trees of Eden Calvary, with its
• 1:07:02
  Speaker 1: ghosts that have not any eyes for tears, and the
• 1:07:06
  Speaker 1: happier guests who would not see, or if they did remember, these,
• 1:07:11
  Speaker 1: though they lived there a thousand years outside too gravely
• 1:07:18
  Speaker 1: looking at me, he seems to stand, and looking at him.
• 1:07:23
  Speaker 1: If my forgotten spirit came unwillingly back, what could it
• 1:07:28
  Speaker 1: claim of those calm eyes, that quiet speech, breaking like
• 1:07:34
  Speaker 1: the slow tide upon the beach, the scarred, not quite
• 1:07:39
  Speaker 1: human hand, unwillingly back to the burdens of old imaginings,
• 1:07:46
  Speaker 1: When it has learned so long not to think, not
• 1:07:49
  Speaker 1: to be again again, It would speak, as it has
• 1:07:55
  Speaker 1: spoken to me, of things that I shall not see.
• 1:08:01
  Speaker 1: I cannot bear to look at this divinely bent and
• 1:08:05
  Speaker 1: gracious head. When I was small, I never quite believed
• 1:08:10
  Speaker 1: that he was dead, and at the convent school I
• 1:08:14
  Speaker 1: used to lie awake in bed thinking about his hands.
• 1:08:19
  Speaker 1: It did not matter what they said, he was alive.
• 1:08:23
  Speaker 1: To me so hurt, so hurt, and most of all
• 1:08:28
  Speaker 1: in Holy week, when there was no one else to see,
• 1:08:33
  Speaker 1: I used to think it would not hurt me too,
• 1:08:36
  Speaker 1: so terribly if he had ever seemed to notice me,
• 1:08:41
  Speaker 1: or if once he would only speak. End of poem.
• 1:08:50
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. Especto Resrettiam by
• 1:09:00
  Speaker 1: Shallop mw Read for LibriVox dot Org by Michael Max.
• 1:09:06
  Speaker 1: Specto risaretzionem O King, who hast the key of that
• 1:09:12
  Speaker 1: dark room, the last which prisons us, but held not
• 1:09:16
  Speaker 1: thee Thou know'st itst gloom? Dost thou a little love
• 1:09:21
  Speaker 1: this one shut in to night, young and so piteously alone,
• 1:09:27
  Speaker 1: cold out of sight. Thou know'st how hard and bear
• 1:09:33
  Speaker 1: the pillow of that new made narrow bed. Then leave
• 1:09:38
  Speaker 1: not there so dear a head End of poem. This
• 1:09:45
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. On the Road to
• 1:09:53
  Speaker 1: the Sea by Shallop mw Read for LibriVox dot Org
• 1:09:57
  Speaker 1: by Michael Max. On the Road to the Sea, we
• 1:10:03
  Speaker 1: passed each other turned and stopped for Havna, then went
• 1:10:07
  Speaker 1: our way. I who make other women smile, did not
• 1:10:11
  Speaker 1: make you. But no man can move mountains in a day.
• 1:10:16
  Speaker 1: So this hard thing is yet to do. But first
• 1:10:20
  Speaker 1: I want your life before I die. I want to
• 1:10:24
  Speaker 1: see the world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes.
• 1:10:29
  Speaker 1: There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering.
• 1:10:32
  Speaker 1: It may be, yet on brown fields there lies a
• 1:10:36
  Speaker 1: haunting purple bloom. Is there not something in gray skies
• 1:10:41
  Speaker 1: and in gray sea? I want what world there is
• 1:10:45
  Speaker 1: behind your eyes. I want your life, and you will
• 1:10:50
  Speaker 1: not give it me. Now if I look, I see
• 1:10:55
  Speaker 1: you walking down the years, young and through august fields,
• 1:11:00
  Speaker 1: a face, a thought, a swinging dream, perched on a
• 1:11:04
  Speaker 1: stile I would have liked so vile we are to
• 1:11:09
  Speaker 1: have taught you tears, but most to have made you smile.
• 1:11:15
  Speaker 1: To day is not enough or yesterday. God sees it
• 1:11:19
  Speaker 1: all your length on sunny lawns, the wakeful, rainy nights.
• 1:11:24
  Speaker 1: Tell me how vain to ask, But it is not
• 1:11:27
  Speaker 1: a question, just a call. Show me then, only your
• 1:11:32
  Speaker 1: notched inches climbing up the garden wall. I like you
• 1:11:36
  Speaker 1: best when you are small. Is this a stupid thing
• 1:11:41
  Speaker 1: to say, not having spent with you one day. No matter,
• 1:11:46
  Speaker 1: I shall never touch your hair or hear the little
• 1:11:49
  Speaker 1: tick behind your breast. Still it is there, and as
• 1:11:54
  Speaker 1: a flying bird brushes the branches where it may not rest,
• 1:11:58
  Speaker 1: I have brushed your and and heard the child in you.
• 1:12:03
  Speaker 1: I like that best, so small, so dark, so sweet.
• 1:12:09
  Speaker 1: And were you also then too grave and wise? Always?
• 1:12:14
  Speaker 1: I think? Then put your far off little hand in mine. Oh,
• 1:12:19
  Speaker 1: let it rest. I will not stare into the early
• 1:12:24
  Speaker 1: world beyond the opening eyes or vex, or scare what
• 1:12:28
  Speaker 1: I love best. But I want your life before mine
• 1:12:33
  Speaker 1: bleeds away, here, not in heavenly, hereafters soon. I want
• 1:12:39
  Speaker 1: your smile this very afternoon, the last of all my vices.
• 1:12:44
  Speaker 1: Pleasant people used to say I wanted, and I sometimes
• 1:12:48
  Speaker 1: got the moon. You know, at dusk the last birds cry,
• 1:12:54
  Speaker 1: and round the house, the flap of the bat's low flight,
• 1:12:58
  Speaker 1: trees that go black again the sky, and then how
• 1:13:02
  Speaker 1: soon the night no shadow of you on any bright
• 1:13:07
  Speaker 1: road again. And at the darkening end of this what voice?
• 1:13:13
  Speaker 1: Whose kiss? As if you'd say, it is not I
• 1:13:17
  Speaker 1: who have walked with you, It will not be I
• 1:13:20
  Speaker 1: who take away peace, peace, my little handful of the
• 1:13:25
  Speaker 1: gleaner's grain from your reaped fields at the shut of day? Peace?
• 1:13:33
  Speaker 1: Would you not rather die reeling with all the cannons
• 1:13:37
  Speaker 1: at your ear? So at least would I? And I
• 1:13:41
  Speaker 1: may not be here to night, to morrow morning, or
• 1:13:45
  Speaker 1: next year, Still I will let you keep your life
• 1:13:49
  Speaker 1: a little while. See, dear, I have made you smile.
• 1:13:57
  Speaker 1: End of poem. This recording is in the The Sunlit
• 1:14:07
  Speaker 1: House by Charlotte Mew read for LibriVox dot Org by
• 1:14:11
  Speaker 1: Michael Max. The sunlit House white through the gate, it
• 1:14:18
  Speaker 1: gleamed and slept in shut at sunshine. The parched garden
• 1:14:23
  Speaker 1: flowers there fallen petals from the beds, unswept like children
• 1:14:28
  Speaker 1: unloved and ill kept dreamed through the hours. Two blue
• 1:14:35
  Speaker 1: hydrangers by the blistered door, burnt brown, watched there, and
• 1:14:39
  Speaker 1: no one in the town cared to go past it
• 1:14:43
  Speaker 1: night or day. Though why this was, they wouldn't say.
• 1:14:48
  Speaker 1: But I, the stranger, knew that I must stay pace
• 1:14:53
  Speaker 1: up the weed grown paths and down till one afternoon.
• 1:14:58
  Speaker 1: There is just a doubt, But I fancy. I heard
• 1:15:02
  Speaker 1: a tiny shout from an upper window, A bird flew out,
• 1:15:07
  Speaker 1: and I went on my way end of poem. This
• 1:15:14
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain. The Shade Catchers by
• 1:15:23
  Speaker 1: Charlotte mw Read for LibriVox dot org by Michael Max
• 1:15:28
  Speaker 1: The shade Catchers, I think they were about as high
• 1:15:32
  Speaker 1: as haycocks are. They went running by, catching bits of
• 1:15:37
  Speaker 1: shade in the sunny street. I've got one, cried sister
• 1:15:41
  Speaker 1: to brother. I've got two. Now I've got another. But
• 1:15:45
  Speaker 1: scudding away on their little bare feet, they left the
• 1:15:49
  Speaker 1: shade in the sunny street. End of poem. This recording
• 1:15:56
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Lsacco Curl by Charlote mw
• 1:16:07
  Speaker 1: Read for librovox dot org by Michael Maggs. L Sacca Curl, Monmartre.
• 1:16:14
  Speaker 1: It is dark up here on the heights, between the
• 1:16:18
  Speaker 1: dome and the stars. It is quiet too, while down
• 1:16:22
  Speaker 1: there under the crowded lights flares the importunate face of you,
• 1:16:28
  Speaker 1: dear Paris, of the hot white hands, the scarlet lips,
• 1:16:33
  Speaker 1: the scented hair, unsulifiavandre fresh all, a thing of gaiety,
• 1:16:40
  Speaker 1: a thing of sorrow, brought to night, possessed, and tossed
• 1:16:45
  Speaker 1: back to the mart again to morrow. Worth and over
• 1:16:49
  Speaker 1: what you cost, well, half your charm is that you
• 1:16:54
  Speaker 1: are withal like some unpurchasable star, so old, so young,
• 1:17:00
  Speaker 1: and infinite and lost. It is dark on the dome
• 1:17:06
  Speaker 1: capped hill, serenely dark, divinely still. Yet here is the
• 1:17:13
  Speaker 1: man who brought you first, dying of his immortal smart,
• 1:17:17
  Speaker 1: your lover, the king with the broken heart, who, while
• 1:17:22
  Speaker 1: you feasting drink your fill, pass round the cup, not
• 1:17:27
  Speaker 1: looking up, calls down to you. I thirst, a king
• 1:17:33
  Speaker 1: with a broken heart. Mon dieu, one breaks so many,
• 1:17:38
  Speaker 1: sella passe quaal to remember all, sell a mare a pois,
• 1:17:44
  Speaker 1: and the first may come sevieux. Perhaps there is still
• 1:17:50
  Speaker 1: some keepsake, or one has possibly sold it for a
• 1:17:54
  Speaker 1: song on a pupatoujio plu lemur, and this one he
• 1:18:01
  Speaker 1: has been dead so long. End of poem. This recording
• 1:18:08
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Song by Charlotte mw Read
• 1:18:18
  Speaker 1: for liprivox dot Org by Michael Maggs. Song Love Love Today,
• 1:18:26
  Speaker 1: My dear love is not always here. Wise maids know
• 1:18:31
  Speaker 1: how soon grows sere the greenest leaf of spring, but
• 1:18:36
  Speaker 1: no man knoweth whither it goeth. When the wind bloweth
• 1:18:40
  Speaker 1: so frail a thing, love love, my dear today have
• 1:18:47
  Speaker 1: the ship's in the bay. If the bird has come
• 1:18:50
  Speaker 1: your way, that sings on summer trees, when his song faileth,
• 1:18:55
  Speaker 1: and the ship sailess no voice availeth to call back
• 1:19:00
  Speaker 1: these end of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
• 1:19:12
  Speaker 1: Saturday Market by Charlocke mew Red for LibriVox dot Org
• 1:19:17
  Speaker 1: by Michael Maggs Saturday Market. Bury your heart in some
• 1:19:24
  Speaker 1: deep green hollow, or hide it up in a kind
• 1:19:27
  Speaker 1: old tree. Better still, give it the swallow when she
• 1:19:32
  Speaker 1: goes over the sea. In Saturday Market, there's eggs a plenty,
• 1:19:38
  Speaker 1: and dead alive ducks with their legs tied down, gray
• 1:19:42
  Speaker 1: old gaffers and boys of twenty, girls and women of
• 1:19:45
  Speaker 1: the town, pitchers and sugar sticks, ribbons and laces, posies
• 1:19:50
  Speaker 1: and whips, and dicky bird seed, silver pieces and smiling faces.
• 1:19:56
  Speaker 1: In Saturday Market, they've all they need. What were you
• 1:20:01
  Speaker 1: showing in Saturday Market that set it grinning from end
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  Speaker 1: to end? Girls and gaffhers and boys of twenty. Cover
• 1:20:10
  Speaker 1: it close with your shawl, my friend. Hasten you home
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  Speaker 1: with the laugh behind you, over the down, out of sight.
• 1:20:19
  Speaker 1: Fasten your door, though no one will find you. No
• 1:20:22
  Speaker 1: one will look on a market night. See you the
• 1:20:27
  Speaker 1: shawl is wet. Take out from under the dead red
• 1:20:31
  Speaker 1: thing in the white of the moon on the flags.
• 1:20:35
  Speaker 1: Does it stir again? Well? And no wonder? Best make
• 1:20:40
  Speaker 1: an end of it, Bury it soon. If there is
• 1:20:43
  Speaker 1: blood on the hearth, or know it, or blood on
• 1:20:47
  Speaker 1: the stairs. When a murder is over and done, why
• 1:20:51
  Speaker 1: show it in Saturday market? Nobody cares. Then lie you
• 1:20:58
  Speaker 1: straight on your bed for a short, short weeping, and
• 1:21:02
  Speaker 1: still for a long long rest. There's never a one
• 1:21:06
  Speaker 1: in the town so sure of sleeping as you in
• 1:21:11
  Speaker 1: the house on the down, with a hole in your breast.
• 1:21:16
  Speaker 1: Think no more of the swallow, Forget you the sea,
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  Speaker 1: never again remember the deep green hollow or the top
• 1:21:26
  Speaker 1: of the kind old tree. End of poem. This recording
• 1:21:33
  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. Racum Wood by Charlotte mw
• 1:21:43
  Speaker 1: Read for LibriVox dot Org by Michael Maggs. Racum Wood
• 1:21:50
  Speaker 1: some said because he wouldna spake any words to women.
• 1:21:53
  Speaker 1: But yes, and no, nor put out is an for
• 1:21:56
  Speaker 1: parson to shake, ye mun bee bird witted. But I
• 1:22:01
  Speaker 1: do go by the lia the barley that he did so,
• 1:22:05
  Speaker 1: And I wish no better thing than to hold a
• 1:22:08
  Speaker 1: rake like Dave in his time, or to see him
• 1:22:12
  Speaker 1: mow put up in churchyard a month ago. A bitter
• 1:22:17
  Speaker 1: old soul, he said, But it wasn't a so his art.
• 1:22:22
  Speaker 1: Wherein Aracum would where he used to go to sit
• 1:22:25
  Speaker 1: and talk? We a shadder till the sun went low.
• 1:22:29
  Speaker 1: Though what it's all about us all never know. And
• 1:22:33
  Speaker 1: there bad no memory in the place of the old
• 1:22:36
  Speaker 1: man's footmark nor his face Aracum. Would do you think
• 1:22:41
  Speaker 1: more of a crow? We'll be violets there in the spring,
• 1:22:46
  Speaker 1: in summer time the spider's lace, and come the fall,
• 1:22:51
  Speaker 1: the whizzle and race of the dry dead leaves, when
• 1:22:54
  Speaker 1: the wingea's chase, and on the eve of Christmas fall
• 1:22:59
  Speaker 1: in snow. End of poem. This recording is in the
• 1:23:06
  Speaker 1: public domain. See Love by Charlotte mw Read for Librovos
• 1:23:16
  Speaker 1: dot Org by Michael Max See Love. Tide be run
• 1:23:23
  Speaker 1: in the great world over twas only last June month.
• 1:23:27
  Speaker 1: I mind that we was thinkin the toss and the
• 1:23:30
  Speaker 1: call in the breast of the lover, so ever lasting
• 1:23:34
  Speaker 1: as the sea. Here's the same little fishes that spur
• 1:23:39
  Speaker 1: and swim wi the moon's old glymb on the gray
• 1:23:43
  Speaker 1: wet sand. An im. No more do me nor me
• 1:23:47
  Speaker 1: to him than the wind goin over my hand. End
• 1:23:54
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The
• 1:24:03
  Speaker 1: Road to Karte by Charlotte mu Rode for LibriVox dot
• 1:24:07
  Speaker 1: org by Michael Maggs. The Road to Karroty. Do you
• 1:24:13
  Speaker 1: remember the two old people we passed on the road
• 1:24:16
  Speaker 1: to Karate, resting their sack on the stones by the
• 1:24:20
  Speaker 1: drenched wayside, looking at us with their lightless eyes through
• 1:24:25
  Speaker 1: the driving rain, and then out again to the rocks
• 1:24:29
  Speaker 1: and the long white line of the tide. Frozen ghosts
• 1:24:35
  Speaker 1: that were children once husband and wife, father, mother, looking
• 1:24:41
  Speaker 1: at us with those frozen eyes. Have you ever seen
• 1:24:45
  Speaker 1: anything quite so chilled? Also old? But we, with our
• 1:24:52
  Speaker 1: arms about each other, we did not feel the cold
• 1:24:59
  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I
• 1:25:09
  Speaker 1: have been through the Gates by Charlotte mw Read for
• 1:25:12
  Speaker 1: librovox dot org by Michael Maggs. I have been through
• 1:25:17
  Speaker 1: the gates. His heart to me was a place of
• 1:25:22
  Speaker 1: palaces and pinnacles and shining towers. I saw it then,
• 1:25:27
  Speaker 1: as we see things in dreams. I do not remember
• 1:25:30
  Speaker 1: how long I slept. I remember the trees and the
• 1:25:35
  Speaker 1: high white walls, and how the sun was always on
• 1:25:39
  Speaker 1: the towers. The walls are standing to day, and the
• 1:25:43
  Speaker 1: gates I have been through, the gates I have groped,
• 1:25:47
  Speaker 1: I have crept back back. There is dust in the
• 1:25:53
  Speaker 1: streets and blood. They are empty. Darkness is over them.
• 1:26:00
  Speaker 1: His heart is a place with the lights gone out,
• 1:26:03
  Speaker 1: forsaken by great winds, and the heavenly rain, unclean and unswept,
• 1:26:10
  Speaker 1: like the heart of the holy city, old, blind, beautiful Jerusalem,
• 1:26:18
  Speaker 1: over which Christ wept. End of poem. This recording is
• 1:26:26
  Speaker 1: in the public domain. The Senatoph by Charlotte Mew read
• 1:26:36
  Speaker 1: for Librovox dot Org by Michael Maggs. The Senatoph. Not
• 1:26:43
  Speaker 1: yet will those measureless fields be green again, where only
• 1:26:47
  Speaker 1: yesterday the wild, sweet blood of wonderful use was shed.
• 1:26:53
  Speaker 1: There is a grave whose earth must hold too long,
• 1:26:57
  Speaker 1: too deep, a stain forever over it. We may speak
• 1:27:02
  Speaker 1: as proudly as we may tread. But here where the watchers,
• 1:27:07
  Speaker 1: by lonely hearths from the thrust of an inward sword,
• 1:27:11
  Speaker 1: have more slowly bled, we shall build the cenotaph victory
• 1:27:18
  Speaker 1: winged with peace, winged too, at the column's head and
• 1:27:23
  Speaker 1: over the stairway at the foot. Oh, here leave desolate,
• 1:27:28
  Speaker 1: passionate hands to spread violets, roses, and laurel with the small, sweet,
• 1:27:35
  Speaker 1: tinkling country things, speaking so wistfully of other springs from
• 1:27:42
  Speaker 1: the little gardens of little places where sun or sweetheart
• 1:27:47
  Speaker 1: was born and bred in splendid sleep, with a thousand
• 1:27:53
  Speaker 1: brothers to lovers, to mothers. Here too lies he under
• 1:28:00
  Speaker 1: the purple, the green, the red. It is all young life.
• 1:28:05
  Speaker 1: It must break some women's hearts to see such a
• 1:28:09
  Speaker 1: brave gay coverlet to such a bed. Only when all
• 1:28:15
  Speaker 1: is done and said, God is not mocked, and neither
• 1:28:20
  Speaker 1: are the dead. For this will stand in our market place?
• 1:28:26
  Speaker 1: Who'll sell whole? Buy? Will you or I? Lie each
• 1:28:30
  Speaker 1: to each with the better grace, While looking into every
• 1:28:36
  Speaker 1: busy haar's and huckster's face as they drive their bargains.
• 1:28:41
  Speaker 1: Is the face of God and some young, piteous murdered face.
• 1:28:51
  Speaker 1: End of poem end of the Farmer's Bride by Charlotte Mew.
• 1:28:56
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain.