'The true Soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because He loves what is behind him.' -G. K. Chesterton

10 March 2013

Sunday Kipling

Forgive me for being so late. Lu and I were taping and mudding and the time got away from me. We should be ready for texture and paint in a couple of days. Angus is doing well. The rash on his leg is getting better thanks to advice from Ruth and Brigid. We're done for the day, Angus has had his afternoon walk and it's time to relax with a nice baseball game on the tube. I hope this day finds you all well and happy. It's a beautiful day here, warm and sunny. Spring is in the air and we are content.


The King

"Farewell, Romance!" the Cave-men said;
  "With bone well carved He went away,
Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
  And jasper tips the spear to-day.
Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
And He with these.  Farewell, Romance!"
"Farewell, Romance!" the Lake-folk sighed;
  "We lift the weight of flatling years;
The caverns of the mountain-side
  Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
Guard ye his rest.  Romance, farewell!"
"Farewell, Romance!" the Soldier spoke;
  "By sleight of sword we may not win,
But scuffle 'mid uncleanly smoke
  Of arquebus and culverin.
Honour is lost, and none may tell
Who paid good blows.  Romance, farewell!"
"Farewell, Romance!" the Traders cried;
  "Our keels have lain with every sea;
The dull-returning wind and tide
  Heave up the wharf where we would be;
The known and noted breezes swell
Our trudging sails. Romance, farewell!"
"Good-bye, Romance!" the Skipper said;
  "He vanished with the coal we burn.
Our dial marks full-steam ahead,
  Our speed is timed to half a turn.
Sure as the ferried barge we ply
'Twixt port and port.  Romance, good-bye!"
"Romance!" the season-tickets mourn,
  "He never ran to catch His train,
But passed with coach and guard and horn --
  And left the local -- late again!"
Confound Romance!...  And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.
His hand was on the lever laid,
  His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
His whistle waked the snowbound grade,
  His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;
By dock and deep and mine and mill
The Boy-god reckless laboured still!
Robed, crowned and throned, He wove His spell,
  Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,
With unconsidered miracle,
  Hedged in a backward-gazing world;
Then taught His chosen bard to say:
"Our King was with us -- yesterday!"


Old NFO said...

Another great one, thanks!

Anonymous said...

And thanks, Angus, for the neat Monterey Chief's Challenge Coin! Certainly appreciated but unexpected, it will prominently reside in my aviator bar. Thanks, too, to Ms Lu and Dad for helping you address the envelope! regards, Alemaster

Six said...

Thanks NFO!

Angus just wanted to show his appreciation for the treats you sent out Alemaster. He's glad you like it!!