Blind Alley

Priekinis viršelis
T. Fisher Unwin, 1919 - 336 psl.
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Populiarios ištraukos

339 psl. - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home...
401 psl. - If I should die, think only this of me : That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed ; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed...
329 psl. - I'd like to see a Tank come down the Stalls, Lurching to rag-time tunes, or " Home, sweet Home," — And there'd be no more jokes in Music-Halls To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume.
328 psl. - Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald; Squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls; A homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stooked field, With sound of barking dogs and farmyard fowls. And he'd come home again to find it more Desirable than ever it was before. How right it seemed that he should reach the span Of comfortable years allowed to man! Splendid to eat and sleep and choose a wife, Safe with his wound, a citizen of life. He hobbled blithely through the garden gate, And thought; "Thank...
407 psl. - What have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, England, my own? With your glorious eyes austere, As the Lord were walking near, Whispering terrible things and dear As the Song on your bugles blown, England — Round the world on your bugles blown! Where shall the watchful sun, England, my England, Match the master-work you've done, England, my own? When shall he...
329 psl. - Base Details If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath, I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death. You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel, Reading the Roll of Honour. 'Poor young chap,' I'd say — 'I used to know his father well; Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap.
25 psl. - English civil servant as ... a man of oil, silver and steel, capable of every delay and grace, suggestive of every sympathy and capable of none, incapable of a lie, always capable of an evasion, determined in public utility, yet not blind to private advancement, singularly addicted to justice, yet unable to suffer mercy. Not a man but a theorem, a diagram, a syllogism.
159 psl. - Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight; Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but Lady Greensleeves?
338 psl. - I want to go home, I want to go home, I don't want to go in the trenches no more, Where whizz-bangs and shrapnel they whistle and roar.

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