Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

1,000 карма
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The Donkey

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When fishes flew and forests
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood,
Then surely I was born;
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The New Freethinker

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John Grubby who was short and stout And troubled with religious doubt,
Refused about the age of three To sit upon the curate's knee; (For so the eternal strife must rage Between the spirit of the age And Dogma, which, as is well known,
D...
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The Ballad of St Barbara

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When the long grey lines came flooding upon Paris in the plain,
We stood and drank of the last free air we never could taste again;
They had led us back from a lost battle, to halt we knew not where,
And stilled us; and our gaping g...
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Gold Leaves

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Lo
I am come to autumn,    When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out    The year and I are old
In youth I sought the prince of men,    Captain in cosmic wars,
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The Aristocrat

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The Devil is a gentleman, and asks you down to
At his little place at What'sitsname (it isn't far away)
They say the sport is splendid; there is always something new,
And fairy scenes, and fearful feats that none but he can do;
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Lepanto

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White founts falling in the courts of the sun,
And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;
There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,
It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard,
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The Convert

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After one moment when I bowed my head And the whole world turned over and came upright, And I came out where the old road shone white, I walked the ways and heard what all men said, Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed, Being not unlovabl...
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The Englishman

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St George he was for England,
And before he killed the dragon He drank a pint of English ale Out of an English flagon
For though he fast right readily In hair-shirt or in mail,
It isn't safe to give him cakes Unless you give him ale
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A Cider Song

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To J
S
M
The wine they drink in Paradise They make in Haute Lorraine;
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The Wife Of Flanders

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Low and brown barns, thatched and repatched and tattered,
Where I had seven sons until to-day,
A little hill of hay your spur has scattered
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