large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_03_chesterton_64kb_4
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_03_chesterton_64kb
English
5754
"There comes no noise but weeping Out of the ancient sky, And a tear is in the tiniest flower Because the gods must die. "The little brooks are very sweet, Like a girl's ribbons curled, But the great sea is bitter That washes all the world. THERE COMES NO NOISE BUT WEEPING OUT OF THE ANCIENT SKY AND A TEAR IS IN THE TINIEST FLOWER BECAUSE THE GODS MUST DIE THE LITTLE BROOKS ARE VERY SWEET LIKE A GIRL'S RIBBONS CURLED BUT THE GREAT SEA IS BITTER THAT WASHES ALL THE WORLD
rk. He said, "I am older than you, Ogier; Not all things would I rend, For whether life be bad or good It is best to abide the end." He took the great harp wearily, Even Guthrum of the Danes, With wide eyes bright as the one long day On the long polar plains. For he sang of a wheel returning, And the mire trod back to mire, And how red hells and golden heavens Are castles in the fire. "It is good to sit where the good tales go, To sit as our fathers sat; But the hour shall come after his youth, When a man shall know not tales but truth, And his heart fail thereat. "When he shall read what is written So plain in clouds and clods, When he shall hunger without hope Even for evil gods. "For this is a heavy matter, And the truth is cold to tell; Do we not know, have we not heard, The soul is like a lost bird, The body a broken shell. "And a man hopes, being ignorant, Till in white woods apart He finds at last the lost bird dead: And a man may still lift up his head But never more his heart. KS WHEN ALL THE NORTH WAS DARK HE SAID I AM OLDER THAN YOU ARGYA NOT ALL THINGS WOULD I REND FOR WHETHER LIFE BE BAD OR GOOD IT IS BEST TO ABIDE THE END HE TOOK THE GREAT HARP WEARILY EVEN GUTHRUM OF THE DANES WITH WIDE EYES BRIGHT AS THE ONE LONG DAY ON THE LONG POLAR PLAINS FOR HE SANG OF A WHEEL RETURNING AND THE MIRE TROD BACK TO MIRE AND HOW RED HELLS AND GOLDEN HEAVENS ARE CASTLES IN THE FIRE IT IS GOOD TO SIT WHERE THE GOOD TALES GO TO SIT AS OUR FATHER SAT BUT THE HOUR SHALL COME AFTER HIS YOUTH WHEN A MAN SHALL NOT KNOW TALES BUT TRUTH AND HIS HEART FAIL THEREAT WHEN HE SHALL READ WHAT IS WRITTEN SO PLAIN IN THE CLOUDS AND CLODS WHEN HE SHALL HUNGER WITHOUT HOPE EVEN FOR EVIL GODS FOR THIS IS A HEAVY MATTER AND THE TRUTH IS COLD TO TELL DO WE NOT KNOW HAVE WE NOT HEARD THE SOUL IS LIKE A LOST BIRD THE BODY A BROKEN SHELL AND A MAN HOPES BEING IGNORANT TILL IN THE WHITE WOODS APART HE FINDS AT LAST THE LOST BIRD DEAD AND A MAN LAY STILL LIFT UP HIS HEAD BUT NEVER MORE HIS HEART
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_03_chesterton_64kb
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download/librilight/large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_03_chesterton_64kb.flac