Quotes about pull, page 11
The Ring-Pull Chain
‘It’s all I can do to remember
Your face, your look or your smile,
You left one day, but you didn’t say
You’d be gone for many a mile;
For many a mile and fortune
That you took in your pocket then,
You left me chained to the window-pane
To welcome you back again.’
‘I stared for many a morning,
I cried for many a night,
But kept my pain on a ring-pull chain
I counted by candle-light.
A link for each day you wandered,
A yard for each month you strayed,
Three hundred feet back in Stanley Street
Is waiting to be unmade.’
‘You took my love at the parting
But me, you left behind,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Magician's Magic
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.
A bag of tricks, a magician can do.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you wth this.
Or he can trick you with that.
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
He can saw a lady in half.
He can split her in two.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
These are some things, a magician can do.
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poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Fitzsimmons Returns
The mirror never lies,
Your mother said.
You look in it now,
The mirror reflects
You in the midst
Of half way dressing.
You hold the green
Corset strings, waiting
For the maid Fitzsimmons.
You’ve rung for her twice.
No sight of her or sound.
Been busy, she’ll say,
Have other things to do
Other than run around
After you. And she’ll say it
In that Irish tongue of hers,
With her deep blue eyes
Peering into your eyes
As if she sought your soul.
You fidget. Pull the strings.
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poem by Terry Collett
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Adam to Your Eve
If I were the 'up' to your downs...
I'd pull your smile right up off the ground,
Oh!
And I would be the Adam to your Eve.
And I would be sure you'd be treated,
Equally.
If I were the Sun to your moon...
I'd heat you up from morning 'til noon,
Oh!
And I'd make sure I'd beam you with my rays.
To keep a smile on your pretty face...
To glow!
And...
If we were the lovers I see.
The ones depicted on movie screens,
Oh!
There would be no reason to leave.
Since we would be here happily,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cairnsmill Den
As I, with hopeless love o'erthrown,
With love o'erthrown, with love o'erthrown,
And this is truth I tell,
As I, with hopeless love o'erthrown,
Was sadly walking all alone,
I met my love one morning
In Cairnsmill Den.
One morning, one morning,
One blue and blowy morning,
I met my love one morning
In Cairnsmill Den.
A dead bough broke within the wood
Within the wood, within the wood,
And this is truth I tell.
A dead bough broke within the wood,
And I looked up, and there she stood.
I asked what was it brought her there,
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poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Black Harry's Team
No soft-skinned Durham steers are they,
No Devons plump and red,
But brindled, black and iron-grey
That mark the mountain-bred;
For mountain-bred and mountain-broke,
With sullen eyes agleam,
No stranger's hand could put a yoke
On old Black Harry's team.
Pull out, pull out, at break of morn
The creeks are running white,
And Tiger, Spot and Snailey-horn
Must bend their bows by night;
And axles, wheels, and flooring boards
Are swept with flying spray
As shoulder-deep, through mountain fords
The leaders feel their way.
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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I Had Been To This Sea Sometime Before (Catena Rondo)
I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
it had been on a tranquil summer day,
I had been to this sea sometime before
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
while a tiny boat rocks upon the wake
where water stretch out beyond from the bay,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
before deeper in the water we both dare,
the surge swells before it crushing breaks
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
while you smile in a way that I adore
we hear the thundering on a distant shore
with some shells and sand swept out everywhere
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poem by Gert Strydom
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We want land! [Noi vrem pământ!]
Without a shelter, hungry, blue,
You put a burden on my back
And spat me and enchained my neck,
I was a dog for you.
Upstart boyar, maybe you planned
To satisfy the hell's demand
To be your dogs, we are in chains,
Suffer the burdens and the pains
And pull the yoke, obey the reins,
But we want land!
A loaf of bread from yesterday
If see with us, you want it bad,
You send to war our dearest lad
And take the girls away.
You curse what's holy, you command,
What's mercy you can't understand!
And our children starve to death
We pity them and lose our breath,
But we could get a little strength
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poem by George Coşbuc, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Snarleyow
This 'appened in a battle to a batt'ry of the corps
Which is first among the women an' amazin' first in war;
An' what the bloomin' battle was I don't remember now,
But Two's off-lead 'e answered to the name o' ~Snarleyow~.
Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
Down in the Cavalry, Colonel 'e swears;
But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!
They was movin' into action, they was needed very sore,
To learn a little schoolin' to a native army corps,
They 'ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin' down the brow,
When a tricky, trundlin' roundshot give the knock to ~Snarleyow~.
They cut 'im loose an' left 'im -- 'e was almost tore in two --
But he tried to follow after as a well-trained 'orse should do;
'E went an' fouled the limber, an' the Driver's Brother squeals:
'Pull up, pull up for ~Snarleyow~ -- 'is head's between 'is 'eels!'
The Driver 'umped 'is shoulder, for the wheels was goin' round,
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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De Stove Pipe Hole
Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,
W'en ev'ry wan he's go couché, an' dog was quiet, too--
Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,
Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.
Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam,
An' she was mak' de promise--sure--some day she be his famme,
But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl',
Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.
He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,
Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen!
An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door,
An' hear de ole man swear 'Bapteme!' he's never come no more.
Young Dominique he's sam' de res',--was scare for ole Maxime,
He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem,
Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see,
An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.
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poem by William Henry Drummond
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