large/5152/brushwoodboy_1111_librivox_64kb_mp3/brushwoodboy_04_kipling_64kb_101
large/5152/brushwoodboy_1111_librivox_64kb_mp3/brushwoodboy_04_kipling_64kb
English
5152
Oh, pity us! We wakeful; ah, pity us!— We must go back with Policeman Day— Back from the City of Sleep! O PITEOUS WE WAKEFUL ARE PITEOUS WE MUST GO BACK WITH POLICEMAN DAY BACK FROM THE CITY OF SLEEP
resent yourself to your elders and your betters till you had washed and changed. “Half-past ten, by Jove! Well, we’ll make the sport an excuse. They wouldn’t want to see me the first evening, at any rate. Gone to bed, probably.” He skirted by the open French windows of the drawing-room. “No, they haven’t. They look very comfy in there.” He could see his father in his own particular chair, the mother in hers, and the back of a girl at the piano by the big potpourri-jar. The gardens looked half divine in the moonlight, and he turned down through the roses to finish his pipe. A prelude ended, and there floated out a voice of the kind that in his childhood he used to call “creamy” a full, true contralto; and this is the song that he heard, every syllable of it: Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams, Know ye the road to the Merciful Town That is hard by the Sea of Dreams— Where the poor may lay their wrongs away, And the sick may forget to weep? But we—pity us!  CLEANED UP IN THE OUTER SCULLERY AND DID NOT PRESENT YOURSELF TO ELDERS NE'BETTOS TILL YOU HAD WASHED AND CHANGED HALF PAST TEN BY JOVE WELL WE'LL MAKE THE SPORT AN EXCUSE THEY WOULDN'T WANT TO SEE ME THE FIRST EVENING AT ANY RATE GONE TO BED PROBABLY HE'S SKIRTED BY THE OPEN FRENCH WINDOWS OF THE DRAWING ROOM NO THEY HAVEN'T THEY LOOK VERY COMFYING THERE HE COULD SEE HIS FATHER IN HIS OWN PARTICULAR CHAIR THE MOTHER IN HERS AND THE BACK OF A GIRL AT THE PIANO BY THE BIG POPERY JAR THE GARDENS LOOKED HALF DIVINE IN THE MOONLIGHT AND HE TURNED DOWN THROUGH THE ROSES TO FINISH HIS PIPE A PRELUDE ENDED AND THERE FLOATED OUT A VOICE OF THE KIND THAT IN HIS CHILDHOOD HE USED TO CALL CREAMY A FULL TRUE CONTRALTO AND THIS WAS THE SONG THAT HE HEARD EVERY SYLLABLE OF IT OVER THE EDGE OF THE PURPLE DOWN WHERE THE SINGLE LAMPLIGHT GLEAMS KNOW YE THE ROAD TO THE MERCIFUL TOWN THAT IS HARD BY THE SEA OF DREAMS WHERE THE POOR MAY LAY THEIR WRONGS AWAY AND THE SICK MAY FORGET TO WEEP BUT WE PITEOUS
large/5152/brushwoodboy_1111_librivox_64kb_mp3/brushwoodboy_04_kipling_64kb
file
download/librilight/large/5152/brushwoodboy_1111_librivox_64kb_mp3/brushwoodboy_04_kipling_64kb.flac