Fires Books I Iii
Fires Books I Iii
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Now, lad ! . . . Thank God ! that's past . . . And you are safe, at last : You're safe, you're safe . . . And now, my precious lass Will see her son, her little son, again. I never thought to reach the top, to-night. God ! What a height ! i8 THE LIGHTHOUSE Nay ! but you must not look : 'twould turn your head And we must not stand shivering here . . . And see . .. A flashing light . . . It's sweeping towards us : and now you stand bright . Ah, your poor, bleeding hands and feet ! My little son, ...my sweet ! There's nothing more to fear. A lighthouse, lad ! And we must make for it. You're tired ; I'll carry you a bit. Nay, son : 'twill warm me up . . . And there will be a fire and bed ; And ev'n perhaps a cup Of something hot to drink, And something good to eat. And think, son, only think, Your home . . . And mother . . . Once again. " Once more, the weary head Sank back upon the bed : And, for a while, he hardly stirred ; But only muttered, now and then, A broken word, As though to cheer His son, who still slept quietly, Upon the other side of me.
What to read after Fires Books I Iii?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Gibson Wilfrid Wilson to read onlineMoreLess
To quickly assess the difficulty of the text, read a short excerpt:
Now, lad ! . . . Thank God ! that's past . . . And you are safe, at last : You're safe, you're safe . . . And now, my precious lass Will see her son, her little son, again. I never thought to reach the top, to-night. God ! What a height ! i8 THE LIGHTHOUSE Nay ! but you must not look : 'twould turn your head And we must not stand shivering here . . . And see . .. A flashing light . . . It's sweeping towards us : and now you stand bright . Ah, your poor, bleeding hands and feet ! My little son, ...my sweet ! There's nothing more to fear. A lighthouse, lad ! And we must make for it. You're tired ; I'll carry you a bit. Nay, son : 'twill warm me up . . . And there will be a fire and bed ; And ev'n perhaps a cup Of something hot to drink, And something good to eat. And think, son, only think, Your home . . . And mother . . . Once again. " Once more, the weary head Sank back upon the bed : And, for a while, he hardly stirred ; But only muttered, now and then, A broken word, As though to cheer His son, who still slept quietly, Upon the other side of me.
What to read after Fires Books I Iii?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Gibson Wilfrid Wilson to read onlineMoreLess
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