Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight By Charles Mackay |
| 3 |  |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. | XXII. OUTSIDE AND IN.
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| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX.. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXXV. |
| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
| LXXXVIII. |
| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
| XCI. |
| XCII. |
| XCIII. |
| XCIV. |
| XCV. |
| XCVI. |
| XCVII. |
| XCVIII. |
| XCIX. |
| C. |
| CI. |
| CII. |
| CIII. |
| CIV. |
| CV. |
| CVI. |
| CVII. |
| CVIII. |
| CIX. |
| CX. |
| CXI. |
| CXII. |
| CXIII. |
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
 | CXXVII. |
| 3 | CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
 | Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight |  |
28
XXII. OUTSIDE AND IN.
Quietly browse the meek-eyed cattle,
Quietly nibble the timid sheep,
And the wind among the beechen branches
Seems as 'twould cradle the rooks to sleep.
The smoke curls blue from the kitchen chimney,
The manor house glints white in the sun;
Peace dwelleth here, and the evening glory
Of a life—well ending—well begun.
Quietly nibble the timid sheep,
And the wind among the beechen branches
Seems as 'twould cradle the rooks to sleep.
The smoke curls blue from the kitchen chimney,
The manor house glints white in the sun;
Peace dwelleth here, and the evening glory
Of a life—well ending—well begun.
Thou foolish rhymer! Pass the threshold!
The master sits in his old arm-chair,
And two strong keepers watch beside him,
Lest he should slay himsels unaware.
He raves, he whines, he groans, he whimpers;
His wife and children have fled, forlorn;
And could he know the doom he suffers,
He'd curse the day that he was born.
The master sits in his old arm-chair,
And two strong keepers watch beside him,
Lest he should slay himsels unaware.
He raves, he whines, he groans, he whimpers;
His wife and children have fled, forlorn;
And could he know the doom he suffers,
He'd curse the day that he was born.
| Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight | |