large/5152/brushwoodboy_1111_librivox_64kb_mp3/brushwoodboy_04_kipling_64kb_156
large/5152/brushwoodboy_1111_librivox_64kb_mp3/brushwoodboy_04_kipling_64kb
English
5152
It is their right in the Baths of Night Body and soul to steep But we—pity us! ah, pity us! We wakeful; oh, pity us!— We must go back with Policeman Day— Back from the City of Sleep! IT IS THE RIGHT IN THE BATHS OF NIGHT BODY AND SOUL TO STEEP BUT WE PITEOUS ARE PITEOUS WE WAKEFUL OR PITEOUS WE MUST GO BACK WITH POLICEMAN DAY BACK FROM THE CITY OF SLEEP
he 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!Oh, pity us! We wakeful; ah, pity us!— We must go back with Policeman Day— Back from the City of Sleep! Weary they turn from the scroll and crown, Fetter and prayer and plough They that go up to the Merciful Town, For her gates are closing now. NE 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 O PITEOUS WE WAKEFUL ARE PITEOUS WE MUST GO BACK WITH POLICEMAN DAY BACK FROM THE CITY OF SLEEP WEARY THEY TURN FROM THE SCROLL AND CROWN FETTER AND PRAYER AND PLOUGH THEY THAT GO UP TO THE MERCIFUL TOWN FOR HER GATES ARE CLOSING NOW
large/5152/brushwoodboy_1111_librivox_64kb_mp3/brushwoodboy_04_kipling_64kb
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