large/9676/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_06_dunsany_64kb_33
large/9676/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_06_dunsany_64kb
English
9676
All the living things were gone that had called this white heap Home: the father would be fighting, somewhere; the children would have fled, if there had been time; the dog would have gone with them, or perhaps, if there was not time, he served other masters; the cat would have made a lair for herself and stalked mice at night through the trenches. AND THE LIVING THINGS WERE GONE THAT HAD CALLED THIS WHITE HEAP HOME THE FATHER WOULD BE FIGHTING SOMEWHERE THE CHILDREN WOULD HAVE FLED IF THERE HAD BEEN TIME THE DOG WOULD HAVE GONE WITH THEM OR PERHAPS IF THERE WAS NOT TIME HE SERVED OTHER MASTERS THE CAT WOULD HAVE MADE A LAIR FOR HERSELF AND STALKED MICE AT NIGHT THROUGH THE TRENCHES
eak as it blows, the only message of this deserted house, is this mighty record, this rare line of history, ill-written: "Lost by the 156th Wurtemburgers, retaken by the Bermondsey Butterflies." Two men wrote that sentence between them. And, as with Homer, no one knows who they were. And; like Homer, their words were epic. On An Old Battle-Field I entered an old battle-field through a garden gate, a pale green gate by the. Bapaume-Arras road. The cheerful green attracted me in the deeps of the desolation as an emerald might in a dust-bin. I entered through that homely garden gate, it had no hinges, no pillars, it lolled on a heap of stone: I came to it from the road; this alone was not battle-field; the road alone was made and tended and kept; all the rest was battle-field, as far as the eye could see. Over a large whitish heap lay a Virginia creeper, turning a dull crimson. And the presence of this creeper mourning there in the waste showed unmistakably that the heap had been a house.  PART SIX OF UNHAPPY FAR OFF THINGS THIS IS A LIEBERVOX RECORDING ALL LIBERVOX RECORDINGS ARE IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN RECORDING BY TRAVICE WAKEMEN SPOSYLVANIA VIRGINIA ON AN OLD BATTLE FIELD I ENTERED AN OLD BATTLEFIELD THROUGH A GARDEN GATE A PALE GREEN GATE BY THE BAPOON ARRAS ROAD THE CHEERFUL GREEN ATTRACTED ME IN THE DEEPS OF THE DESOLATION AS AN EMERALD MIGHT IN A DUST BIN I ENTERED THROUGH THAT HOMELY GARDEN GATE IT HAD NO HINGES NO PILLARS IT LULLED ON A HEAP OF STONE I CAME TO IT FROM THE ROAD THIS ALONE WAS NOT BATTLEFIELD THE ROAD ALONE WAS MADE AND TENDED AND KEPT ALL THE REST WAS BATTLEFIELD AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE OVER A LARGE WHITISH HEAP LAY A VIRGINIA CREEPER TURNING A DULL CRIMSON AND THE PRESENCE OF THIS CREEPER MOURNING THERE IN THE WASTE SHOWED UNMISTAKABLY THAT THE HEAP HAD BEEN A HOUSE
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