The Novels and Tales of Robert Louis Stevenson, Том 16

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Сторінка 129 - REQUIEM UNDER the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will This be the verse you grave for me : Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Сторінка 25 - The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
Сторінка 35 - THE SWING HOW do you like to go up In a swing, Up in the air so blue ? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do...
Сторінка 211 - I WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.
Сторінка 1 - In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people's feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, 10 When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play To have to go to bed by day?
Сторінка 17 - WHEN I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day. And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes, through the hills; And sometimes sent my ships in fleets AH up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about.
Сторінка 216 - BRIGHT is the ring of words When the right man rings them, Fair the fall of songs When the singer sings them. Still they are carolled and said — On wings they are carried — After the singer is dead And the maker buried.
Сторінка 15 - WHERE GO THE BOATS? DARK brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along forever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating — Where will all come home?
Сторінка 145 - THE bed was made, the room was fit, By punctual eve the stars were lit; The air was still, the water ran, No need was there for maid or man, When we put up, my ass and I, At God's green caravanserai.
Сторінка 19 - And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow — Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in...

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