large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_14_dunsany_64kb_32
large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_14_dunsany_64kb
English
9571
Sometimes I picked a bunch of king cups to show them to the hills. I often came there. At first I noticed nothing about the field except its beauty and its peacefulness. SOMETIMES I PICKED A BUNCH OF KIN CUPS TO SHOW THEM TO THE HILLS I OFTEN CAME THERE AT FIRST I NOTICED NOTHING ABOUT THE FIELD EXCEPT ITS BEAUTY AND ITS PEACEFULNESS
the gloom would lighten, and the horror of the place would slowly lift. Yet as one emerges nearer to the edge of London, and nearer to the beautiful influence of the hills, the houses become uglier, the streets viler, the gloom deepens, the errors of civilisation stand bare to the scorn of the fields. Where ugliness reaches the height of its luxuriance, in the dense misery of the place, where one imagines the builder saying, "Here I culminate. Let us give thanks to Satan," there is a bridge of yellow brick, and through it, as through some gate of filigree silver opening on fairyland, one passes into the country. To left and right, as far as one can see, stretches that monstrous city; before one are the fields like an old, old song. There is a field there that is full of king-cups. A stream runs through it, and along the stream is a little wood of osiers. There I used often to rest at the streams edge before my long journey to the hills. There I used to forget London, street by street.   BEASTS WOULD BECOME FEWER THE GLOOM WOULD LIGHTEN AND THE HORROR OF THE PLACE WOULD SLOWLY LIFT YET AS ONE EMERGES NEARER TO THE EDGE OF LO LONDON AND NEARER TO THE BEAUTIFUL INFLUENCE OF THE HILLS THE HOUSES BECOME UGLIER THE STREETS VILER THE GLOOM DEEPENS THE ERRORS OF CIVILIZATION STAND BARE TO THE SCORN OF THE FIELDS WHERE UGLINESS REACHES THE HEIGHT OF ITS LUXURIANCE IN THE DENSE MISERY OF THE PLACE WHERE ONE IMAGINES THE BUILDER SAYING HERE I CULMINATE LET US GIVE THANKS TO SATAN THERE IS A BRIDGE OF YELLOW BRICK AND THROUGH IT AS THROUGH SOME GATE OF FILIGREE SILVER OPENING ON FAIRYLAND ONE PASSES INTO THE COUNTRY TO LEFT AND RIGHT AS FAR AS ONE CAN SEE STRETCHES THAT MONSTROUS CITY BEFORE ONE ARE THE FIELDS LIKE AN OLD OLD SONG THERE IS A FIELD THERE THAT IS FULL OF KIN CUPS A STREAM RUNS THROUGH IT AND ALONG THE STREAM IS A LITTLE WOOD OF OSIERS THERE I USED OFTEN TO REST AT THE STREAM'S EDGE BEFORE MY LONG JOURNEY TO THE HILLS THERE I USED TO FORGET LONDON STREET BY STREET 
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