large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_05_dunsany_64kb_12
large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_05_dunsany_64kb
English
9571
No guard goes round Bethmoora's battlements, no enemy assails them. There are no lights in her houses, no footfall on her streets, she stands there dead and lonely beyond the Hills of Hap, and I would see Bethmoora once again, but dare not. NO GUARD GOES ROUND BETHMOR'S BATTLEMENTS NO ENEMY ASSAILS THEM THERE ARE NO LIGHTS IN HER HOUSES NO FOOTFALL ON HER STREETS SHE STANDS THERE DEAD AND LONELY BEYOND THE HILLS OF HAP AND I WOULD SEE BETHMORA ONCE AGAIN BUT DARE NOT
st from the aspect of the street lamps, those abashed dependants of night, that already English mountain peaks have seen the dawn, that the cliffs of Dover are standing white to the morning, that the sea-mist has lifted and is pouring inland. And now men with a hose have come and are sluicing out the streets. Behold now night is dead. What memories, what fancies throng one's mind! A night but just now gathered out of London by the horrific hand of Time. A million common artificial things all cloaked for a while in mystery, like beggars robed in purple, and seated on dread thrones. Four million people asleep, dreaming perhaps. What worlds have they gone into? Whom have they met? But my thoughts are far off with Bethmoora in her loneliness, whose gates swing to and fro. To and fro they swing, and creak and creak in the wind, but no one hears them. They are of green copper, very lovely, but no one sees them now. The desert wind pours sand into their hinges, no watchman comes to ease them. AND IT IS NOW MANIFEST FROM THE ASPECT OF THE STREET LAMPS THOUGH THE BASHED DEPENDENCE OF NIGHT THAT ALREADY ENGLISH MOUNTAIN PEAKS HAVE SEEN THE DAWN THAT THE CLIFFS OF DOVER ARE STANDING WHITE TO THE MORNING THAT THE SEA MIST HAS LIFTED AND IS POURING INLAND AND NOW MEN WITH A HOSE HAVE COME OUT AND ARE SLUICING OUT THE STREETS BEHOLD NOW NIGHT IS DEAD WHAT MEMORIES WHAT FANCIES THRONG ONE'S MIND A NIGHT BUT JUST NOW GATHERED OUT OF LONDON BY THE HORRIFIC HAND OF TIME A MILLION COMMON ARTIFICIAL THINGS ALL CLOAKED FOR A WHILE IN MYSTERY LIKE BEGGARS ROBED IN PURPLE AND SEATED ON DREAD THRONES FOUR MILLION PEOPLE ASLEEP DREAMING PERHAPS WHAT WORLDS HAVE THEY GONE INTO WHOM HAVE THEY MET BUT MY THOUGHTS ARE FAR OFF WITH BETHMORA IN HER LONELINESS WHOSE GATES SWING TO AND FRO TO AND FRO THEY SWING AND CREAK AND CREAK IN THE WIND BUT NO ONE HEARS THEM THEY ARE OF GREEN COPPER VERY LOVELY BUT NO ONE SEES THEM NOW THE DESERT WIND POURS SAND INTO THEIR HINGES NO WATCHMAN COMES TO EASE THEM
large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_05_dunsany_64kb
file
download/librilight/large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_05_dunsany_64kb.flac