Quotes about hut, page 4
The Midnight Axe
I.
The red day sank as the Sergeant rode
Through the woods grown dim and brown,
One farewell flush on his carbine glowed,
And the veil of the dusk drew down.
No sound of life save the hoof-beats broke
The hush of the lonely place,
Or the short, sharp words that the Sergeant spoke
When his good horse slackened pace,
Or hungrily caught at the ti-tree shoots,
Or in tangled brushwood tripped
Faltered amid disrupted roots,
Or on porphyry outcrop slipped.
The woods closed in; through the vaulted dark
No ray of starlight shone,
But still o'er the crashing litter of bark
Trooper and steed tore on.
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poem by James Brunton Stephens
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The Odyssey: Book 16
Meanwhile Ulysses and the swineherd had lit a fire in the hut and
were were getting breakfast ready at daybreak for they had sent the
men out with the pigs. When Telemachus came up, the dogs did not bark,
but fawned upon him, so Ulysses, hearing the sound of feet and
noticing that the dogs did not bark, said to Eumaeus:
"Eumaeus, I hear footsteps; I suppose one of your men or some one of
your acquaintance is coming here, for the dogs are fawning urn him and
not barking."
The words were hardly out of his mouth before his son stood at the
door. Eumaeus sprang to his feet, and the bowls in which he was mixing
wine fell from his hands, as he made towards his master. He kissed his
head and both his beautiful eyes, and wept for joy. A father could not
be more delighted at the return of an only son, the child of his old
age, after ten years' absence in a foreign country and after having
gone through much hardship. He embraced him, kissed him all over as
though he had come back from the dead, and spoke fondly to him saying:
"So you are come, Telemachus, light of my eyes that you are. When
I heard you had gone to Pylos I made sure I was never going to see you
any more. Come in, my dear child, and sit down, that I may have a good
look at you now you are home again; it is not very often you come into
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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto III.
I.
Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roll'd,
How when its echoes fell, a silence dead
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold?
The rye-glass shakes not on the sod-built fold,
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still,
The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd hold,
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill,
The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill.
II.
Artornish! such a silence sunk
Upon thy halls, when that grey Monk
His prophet-speech had spoke;
And his obedient brethren's sail
Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale
Before a whisper woke.
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear,
Close pour'd in many an anxious ear,
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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Inspired by Issa - my hut's lamp
my hut's lamp -
lucky that it magnifies only
my shadow
inspired by
my hut's lamp-
even moths don't come
to the flame
-Issa,1820
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Hut Leaned Against a House
A hut leaned against a house
counting its days
winter after winter.
One winter
snow shattered its roof;
another winter
rain felled it.
Someone bought the house
and
raised a bungalow instead.
One upon a time
a hut was there;
now
it is sod.
poem by Dina Nath Nadim
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Loveless
the lovers enter the little hut
at night the sea breeze is colder
there is no moon
they get out from the little hut
someone follows
he comes back
the lovers are gone
the wind blows
the window flaps
the door closes upon itself
another story of love
he sits on the sandy shore
self-pity sings an aria for him
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Of Strangers And Love Huts....
when we were strangers
i think we were more interested with each other
too much familiarity you must know
breeds contempt and
we forget the first laughter inside the bus
when we were heading for that love hut
inside the love hut when the lights were turned off
we imagine ourselves singing those old love songs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Cottage
Nobody can weigh respect and love,
Wealth can't weaken them or power,
Nothing can tempt cause they're high above,
Where, there dwells knowledge bower,
People seek in royal robes and towers,
I've sought in a hut that is small,
The place is blessed where knowledge showers,
Only hut to them, but to me the world all.
It has been shined with math's golden rays,
That sun has set but redness is still there,
To mark the people to their successful ways,
Now, a silver light of English's shown from there,
That's witnessed many ups and down,
And proved talent doesn't need one, but itself a crown.
poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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The Farmer And The Stray Dog
the farmer arrives
bringing with him his
viand and rice
places it in the corner
of his hut,
the stray dog
gets in through its
sense of smell
and finds its catch
the farmer's
viand and rice
the catch is taken
far away
the farmer
is not angry for soon
a woman with a long
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Beach
the sun is up.
the peebles are hot.
the trees are brewing their greens
to the pluffy blue clouds.
we huddle together on a
thatch-roofed hut by the shore.
the waves splash on the
side of the big rock.
the sands gleam
some diamond sparks
the horizon is silvery
the cove curves beyond us
a little farther
a nude man approaches
another nude woman
and they run towards the
blue waters of the sea
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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