Greybeards at Play by G. K. (Gilbert Keith) Chesterton
page 13 of 17 (76%)
page 13 of 17 (76%)
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But when I quenched the midnight oil, And closed _The Referee_, Whose thirty volumes folio I take to bed with me, I had a rather funny dream, Intense, that is, and mystic; I dreamed that, with one leap and yell, The world became artistic. The Shopmen, when their souls were still, Declined to open shops-- [Illustration] And Cooks recorded frames of mind In sad and subtle chops. [Illustration] The stars were weary of routine: The trees in the plantation Were growing every fruit at once, In search of a sensation. The moon went for a moonlight stroll, And tried to be a bard, And gazed enraptured at itself: I left it trying hard. |
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