large/5152/short_poetry_collection_103k_1112_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc103_spanishwaters_masefield_ln_64kb_2
large/5152/short_poetry_collection_103k_1112_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc103_spanishwaters_masefield_ln_64kb
English
5152
And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sunŌĆÖs disc dipping red, And the tall ship, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head. AND I SEE IN DREAMS A WHILE'S THE BEACH THE SUN'S DISC DIPPING RED AND THE TALL SHIP UNDER THOMPSAILS SWAYING IN PAST NIGGERHEAD
 charms and silver trinkets from the chests of Spanish crews, Gold doubloons and double moidores, louis dŌĆÖors and portagues, Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil, Uncut emeralds out of Rio, bezoar stones from Guayaquil; Silver, in the crude and fashioned, pots of old Arica Bronze, Jewels from the bones of Incas desecrated by the Dons. We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree, Which marks yon where the gear is hid that none will ever see, And we laid aboard the ship again, and south away we steers, Through the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears. IŌĆÖm the last alive that knows it. All the rest have gone their ways Killed, or died, or come to anchor in the old Mulatas Cays, And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and in despair, And I know where all that gold is hid, if I were only there. ItŌĆÖs not the way to end it all. I'm old, and nearly blind, And an old man's past's a strange thing, for it never leaves his mind. AR MAN AS RICH AS LIMA TOWN COPPER CHARMS AND SILVER TRINKETS FROM THE CHESTS OF SPANISH CREWS GOLD TO BLOOMS AND DOUBLE MOIDORS LOUIS D'ORS AND PORTAGOOSE CLUMSY YELLOW METAL EAR RINGS FROM THE INDIANS OF BRAZIL UNCUT EMERALDS OUT OF RIO BEZOUR STONES FROM GAYA KILL SILVER IN THE CRUDE AND FASHIONED POTS OF OLD ARICA BRONZE JEWELS FROM THE BONES OF INCAS DESECRATED BY THE DONS WE SMOOTHED THE PLACE WITH MATTOCKS AND WE TOOK AND BLAZED THE TREE WHICH MARKS YON WHERE THE GEAR IS HID THAT NONE WILL EVER SEE AND WE LAID ABOARD THE SHIP AGAIN AND SOUTH AWAY WE STEERS THROUGH THE LOUD SURF OF LOSMERTOS WHICH IS BEATING IN MY EARS I'M THE LAST ALIVE THAT KNOWS IT ALL THE REST HAVE GONE THEIR WAYS KILLED OR DIED OR COME TO ANCHOR IN THE OLD MULATTOUS CAVES AND I GO SINGING FIDDLING OLD AND STARVED AND IN DESPAIR AND I KNOW WHERE ALL THAT GOLD IS HID IF I WERE ONLY THERE IT'S NOT THE WAY TO END IT ALL I'M OLD AND NEARLY BLIND AND AN OLD MAN'S PAST'S A STRANGE THING FOR IT NEVER LEAVES HIS MIND
large/5152/short_poetry_collection_103k_1112_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc103_spanishwaters_masefield_ln_64kb
file
download/librilight/large/5152/short_poetry_collection_103k_1112_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc103_spanishwaters_masefield_ln_64kb.flac