CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME POEM PDF

What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed, neither pride Now hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be.

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Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came - Poem by Robert Browning Autoplay next video My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower.

Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be. While some discuss if near the other graves Be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves: And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay.

So, quiet as despair, I turned from him, That hateful cripple, out of his highway Into the path he pointed. All the day Had been a dreary one at best, and dim Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. For mark! I might go on; nought else remained to do. So, on I went. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: For flowersas well expect a cedar grove!

If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents Were jealous else. As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Not it! Giles then, the soul of honourthere he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.

What honest man should dare he said he durst. Goodbut the scene shiftsfaugh! His own bands Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst! Better this present than a past like that; Back therefore to my darkening path again!

No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain. Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. So petty yet so spiteful! Glad was I when I reached the other bank. Now for a better country. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage, Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank Soil to a plash?

The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque. What penned them there, with all the plain to choose? No foot-print leading to that horrid mews, None out of it. Mad brewage set to work Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews. And more than thata furlong onwhy, there!

Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood, Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth Desperate and done with; so a fool finds mirth, Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood Changes and off he goes! And just as far as ever from the end! Nought in the distance but the evening, nought To point my footstep further! How thus they had surprised me,solve it, you! How to get from them was no clearer case. Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick Of mischief happened to me, God knows when In a bad dream perhaps.

Here ended, then, Progress this way. Burningly it came on me all at once, This was the place! Dunce, Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce, After a life spent training for the sight! What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? Not see? Not hear? Names in my ears Of all the lost adventurers my peers, How such a one was strong, and such was bold, And such was fortunate, yet, each of old Lost, lost!

There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met To view the last of me, a living frame For one more picture! And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, And blew.

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Poem of the week: Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came by Robert Browning

Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came - Poem by Robert Browning Autoplay next video My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower.

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Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came - Poem by Robert Browning

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