Quotes about mile., page 3
Dedicatory Poem: To George Sigerson, Poet And Scholar
Two men of art, they say, were with the sons
Of Milé,—a poet and a harp player,
When Milé, having taken Ireland, left
The land to his sons’ rule; the poet was
Cir, and fair Cendfind was the harp player.
The sons of Milé for the kingship fought—
(Blithely, with merry sounds, the old poem says)
Eber and Eremon, the sons of Milé
And when division of the land was made
They drew a lot for the two men of art.
With Eber who had won the Northern half
The Harper Cendfind went, and with Eremon
The Northerner, Cir the poet stayed;
And so, the old Book of the Conquests says,
The South has music and the North has lore.
To you who are both of the North and South,
To you who have the music and the lore,
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poem by Padraic Colum
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The Day's March
The battery grides and jingles,
Mile succeeds to mile;
Shaking the noonday sunshine
The guns lunge out awhile,
And then are still awhile.
We amble along the highway;
The reeking, powdery dust
Ascends and cakes our faces
With a striped, sweaty crust.
Under the still sky's violet
The heat throbs on the air….
The white road's dusty radiance
Assumes a dark glare.
With a head hot and heavy,
And eyes that cannot rest,
And a black heart burning
In a stifled breast,
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poem by Robert Nichols
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A Fair Warning
Let 'em come, by gum! That's all I say.
Let me see one of 'em up this way,
With their sacks a-back an' their walkin' boots
Low neck, short-panted hikin' coots
Flingin' their fags in the brambles here,
Same as that other one done last year.
He might just once; but he won't no more.
I'll nail his hide to the cow-shed door.
A mile o' fencin' and two good hust
All thro' them an' their lighted butts.
Patronisin'? You're too dead right.
These city fellers is awful bright
Three good huts an' a mile o' fence!
'Tisn't so much me own expense;
Three mile o' forest gone up in smoke!
Well, ain't it enough to nark a bloke?
The worst they done was in ninety-five.
Poor ole Ben Bray, he'd still be alive
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Approach
1.
In the Grass: Halt by the Wayside
In my tired, helpless body
I feel my sunk heart ache;
But suddenly, loudly
The far, the great guns shake.
Is it sudden terror
Burdens my heart? My hand
Flies to my head. I listen…
And do not understand.
Is death so near, then?
From this blazing light,
Do I plunge suddenly
Into vortex? Night?
Guns again! the quiet
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poem by Robert Nichols
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Chant-Pagan
ENGLISH IRREGULAR, DISCHARGED
Me that 'ave been what I've been --
Me that 'ave gone where I've gone --
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen --
'Ow can I ever take on
With awful old England again,
An' 'ouses both sides of the street,
And 'edges two sides of the lane,
And the parson an' gentry between,
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet --
Me that 'ave been what I've been?
Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world
'Eave up all shiny with dew,
Kopje on kop to the sun,
An' as soon as the mist let 'em through
Our 'elios winkin' like fun --
Three sides of a ninety-mile square,
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Listening to every Tom, Dick and Donkey
Come, we have a story, said the Old Man. Come, sit and I shall tell you all a little tale of a donkey, a boy and his father…and of strangers too…and many a busybody…
And the children sat round the campfire and the Old Man began his tale…
One day
(and this is many, many
uncountable days ago)
Father called Son
and he said:
‘Son
you are grown now
into a fine young lad
and you must learn
how to buy and sell
and make a profit
‘So, come let us go
you and I
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Great Pig Story of the Tweed
“Hands off, old man!” the young man cried—
They stood beside the Tweed,
Where still the name of Murder Creek
Records some bloody deed.
The old man seized the hapless youth,
With frantic grasp and rough,
By what is popularly called
(But vulgarly) the scruff;
And shouted as he twirled him round,
And shook him to and fro,
“Was them consignments pigs? . . Great Scott!
Was them things pigs or no?”
Wild-eyed and gaunt, and grim he stood,
Beneath the scorching noon,—
Cantharides P. Roebuck, late
Of the steamboat Arakoon.
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poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Northumberland Betrayed by Douglas
'How long shall fortune faile me nowe,
And harrowe me with fear and dread?
How long shall I in bale abide,
In misery my life to lead?
'To fall from my bliss, alas the while!
It was my sore and heavye lott:
And I must leave my native land,
And I must live a man forgot.
'One gentle Armstrong I doe ken,
A Scot he is, much bound to mee;
He dwelleth on the Border side,
To him I'll goe right privilie.'
Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine,
With a heavy heart and wel-away,
When he with all his gallant men
On Bramham moor had lost the day.
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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Worth Every Mile
Written by Travis Tritt
The roads that we've traveled
Ain't always been easy
Lord knows we've both seen our share
Of troubles and trials
It's hard to believe
We made it so far together
But just between you and me darling
It was worth every mile
Chorus:
It was worth every storm
We had to weather
It was worth all the evenings
We cried together
When the going got toughest
I could count on your smile
And looking back now I can say
It was worth every mile
I know you and I both had our doubts
That we'd make it
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song performed by Travis Tritt
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Miserable Lie
So, goodbye
Please stay with your own kind
And i'll stay with mine
There's something against us
It's not time
It's not time
So, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
I know i need hardly say
How much i love your casual way
Oh, but please put your tongue away
A little higher and we're well away
The dark nights are drawing in
And your humour is as black as them
I look at yours, you laugh at mine
And "love" is just a miserable lie
You have destroyed my flower-like life
Not once - twice
You have corrupt my innocent mind
Not once - twice
I recognise that mystical air
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song performed by Smiths
Added by Lucian Velea
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