large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_08_chesterton_64kb_2
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_08_chesterton_64kb
English
5754
"So were the island of a saint; But I am a common king, And I will make my fences tough From Wantage Town to Plymouth Bluff, Because I am not wise enough To rule so small a thing." SO WERE THE ISLAND OF THE SAINT BUT I AM A COMMON KING AND I WILL MAKE MY FENCES TOUGH FROM WANTAGE TOWN TO PLYMOUTH BLUFF BECAUSE I AM NOT WISE ENOUGH TO RULE SO SMALL A THING
t; That a sage feels too small for life, And a fool too large for it. "Asia and all imperial plains Are too little for a fool; But for one man whose eyes can see The little island of Athelney Is too large a land to rule. "Haply it had been better When I built my fortress there, Out in the reedy waters wide, I had stood on my mud wall and cried: 'Take England all, from tide to tide-- Be Athelney my share.' "Those madmen of the throne-scramble-- Oppressors and oppressed-- Had lined the banks by Athelney, And waved and wailed unceasingly, Where the river turned to the broad sea, By an island of the blest. "An island like a little book Full of a hundred tales, Like the gilt page the good monks pen, That is all smaller than a wren, Yet hath high towns, meteors, and men, And suns and spouting whales; "A land having a light on it In the river dark and fast, An isle with utter clearness lit, Because a saint had stood in it; Where flowers are flowers indeed and fit, And trees are trees at last. ALL FAIL THIS WORLD ALONE SHALL FIT THAT A SAGE FEELS TOO SMALL FOR LIFE AND A FOOL TOO LARGE FOR IT ASIA AND ALL IMPERIAL PLAINS ARE TOO LITTLE FOR A FOOL BUT FOR ONE MAN WHOSE EYES CAN SEE IN THE LITTLE ISLAND OF ATILNEE IT IS TOO LARGE A LAND TO RULE HAPLY IT HAD BEEN BETTER WHEN I BUILT MY FORTRESS THERE OUT IN THE REEDY WATERS WIDE I HAD STOOD ON MY MUD WALL AND CRIED TAKE ENGLAND ALL FROM TIDE TO TIDE BE ATTILNE MY SHARE THOSE MADMEN OF THE THRONE SCRAMBLE OPPRESSORS AND OPPRESSED HAD LINED THE BANKS OF ATILNEY AND WAVED AND WAILED UNCEASINGLY WHERE THE RIVER TURNED TO THE BROAD SEA BY AN ISLAND OF THE BLEST AND ISLAND LIKE A LITTLE BOOK FULL OF A HUNDRED TALES LIKE THE GILT PAGE THE GOOD MONK'S PEN THAT IS ALL SMALLER THAN A WREN YET HALF HIGH TOWERS METEORS AND MEN AND SUNS AND SPOUTING WALES A LAND HAVING A LIGHT ON IT IN THE RIVER DARK AND FAST AN ISLE WITH UTTER CLEARNESS LIT BECAUSE A SAINT HAD STOOD IN IT WHERE FLOWERS ARE FLOWERS INDEED AND FIT AND TREES ARE TREES AT LAST
large/5754/balladwhitehorse_1404_librivox_64kb_mp3/balladofthewhitehorse_08_chesterton_64kb
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