large/10244/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_13_dunsany_64kb_17
large/10244/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_13_dunsany_64kb
English
10244
It is not this that is romantic, not Mars, but poor, limping Peace. It is what is left that appeals to you, with pathos and infinite charm; little desolate gardens that no one has tended for years, wall paper left in forlorn rooms when all else is Scattered, old toys buried in rubbish, old steps untrodden on inaccessible landings: it is what is left that appeals to you, what remains of old peaceful things. IT IS NOT THIS THAT IS ROMANTIC NOT MARS BUT POOR LIMPING PEACE IT IS WHAT IS LEFT THAT APPEALS TO YOU WITH PATHOS AND INFINITE CHARM LITTLE DESOLATE GARDENS THAT NO ONE HAS TENDED FOR YEARS WALL PAPER LEFT IN FORLORN ROOMS WHERE ALL ELSE IS SCATTERED OLD TOYS BURIED IN RUBBISH OLD STEPS UNTRODDEN ON INACCESSIBLE LANDINGS IT IS WHAT IS LEFT THAT APPEALS TO YOU WHAT REMAINS OF OLD PEACEFUL THINGS
er design shows unconcealed to the cold gaze of the street. The rooms have neither mystery nor adornment. Burst mattresses loll down from bedraggled beds. No one has come to tidy them up for years. And roofs have slanted down as low as the first floor. I saw a green door ajar in an upper room: the whole of the front wall of the house was gone: the door partly opened oddly on to a little staircase, whose steps one could just see, that one wondered whither it went. The door seemed to beckon and beckon to some lost room, but if one could ever have got there, up through that shattered house, and if the steps of that little staircase would bear, so that one came to, the room that is hidden away at the top, yet there could only be silence and spiders there, and broken plaster and the dust of calamity; it is only to memories that the green door beckons; nothing remains. And some day they may come to Arras to see the romance of war, to see where the shells struck and to pick up pieces of iron.  HOUSES WHOSE MOST INNER DESIGN SHOWS UNCONCEALED TO THE COLD GAZE OF THE STREET THE ROOMS HAVE NEITHER MYSTERY NOR ADORNMENT BURST MATTRESSES LOLL DOWN FROM BEDRAGGLED BEDS NO ONE HAS COME TO TIDY THEM UP FOR YEARS AND ROOFS HAVE SLANTED DOWN AS LOW AS THE FIRST FLOOR I SAW A GREEN DOOR AJAR IN AN UPPER ROOM THE WHOLE OF THE FRONT WALL OF THE HOUSE WAS GONE THE DOOR PARTLY OPENED ODDLY ON TO A LITTLE STAIRCASE WHOSE STEPS ONE COULD JUST SEE THAT ONE WONDERED WHITHER IT WENT THE DOOR SEEMED TO BECKON AND BECKON TO SOME LOST ROOM BUT IF ONE COULD EVER HAVE GOT THERE UP THROUGH THAT SHATTERED HOUSE AND IF THE STEPS OF THAT LITTLE STAIRCASE WOULD BEAR SO THAT ONE CAME TO THE ROOM THAT IS HIDDEN AWAY AT THE TOP YET THERE COULD ONLY BE SILENCE AND SPIDERS THERE AND BROKEN PLASTER AND THE DUST OF CALAMITY IT IS ONLY TO MEMORIES THAT THE GREEN DOOR BECKONS NOTHING REMAINS AND SOME DAY THEY MAY COME TO ARRIS TO SEE THE ROMANCE OF WAR TO SEE WHERE THE SHELLS STRUCK AND TO PICK UP PIECES OF IRON
large/10244/unhappy_far-off_things_1701_librivox_64kb_mp3/unhappyfaroffthings_13_dunsany_64kb
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