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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373420" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elizabeth Speaks</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Aetat Six)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Now every night we light the grate<br>And I sit up till _really_ late;<br>My Father sits upon the right,<br>My Mother on the left, and I<br>Between them on an ancient chair,<br>That once belonged to my Great-Gran,<br>Before my Father was a man.<br>We sit without another light;<br>I really, truly never tire<br>Watching that space, as black as night,<br>That hangs behind the fire;<br>For there sometimes, you know,<br>The dearest, queerest little sparks,<br>Without a sound creep to and fro;<br>Sometimes they form in rings<br>Or lines that look like many things,<br>Like skipping ropes, or hoops, or swings:<br>Before you know what you're about,<br>They all go out!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My Father says that they are gnomes,<br>Beyond the grate they have their homes,<br>In a tall, black, and windy town,<br>Behind a door we cannot see.<br>Often when it's time for bed<br>The children run away instead,<br>Out through the door to see our fire,<br>Then their angry parents come<br>With every candle in the town,<br>The beadle with his lantern too,<br>And search and rummage up and down,<br>To catch the children as they play,<br>Between the rows of new-mown hay,<br>And bring them home;<br>(They must be, O, so very small,<br>How do they capture them at all?<br>But then they must be very _dear_);<br>When they can find no more<br>They blow a horn we cannot hear,<br>And march with the beadle at their head,<br>Right through the little open door,<br>Then close it tight and go to bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My Mother says that may be so;<br>(They both agree they're _gnomes_, you know).<br>She says, she thinks that every night,<br>The gnomes have had a fearful fight;<br>Their valiant General has been slain,<br>And all the soldiers leave the camp<br>To dig his grave upon the plain;<br>They drag the General on a gun;<br>Every bandsman has a lamp<br>And there's a torch for every one,<br>They dig his grave with bayonets<br>And wrap him grandly in his flag,<br>Then they gather in a ring,<br>The band plays very soft and low,<br>And all the soldiers sing.<br>(Of course we cannot hear, you know,)<br>Then some one calls 'The enemy comes!'<br>They muffle up their pipes and drums;<br>Every soldier in a fright<br>Puts out his light.<br>Then hand in hand, and very still,<br>They clamber up the dark, dark hill<br>And hold their breath tight--tight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(I'd like to know which tale is right.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O! there is something I forgot!<br>Sometimes one little spark burns on<br>Long after the rest have gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My Father says that lamp is left<br>By a little crooked, crotchety man,<br>Who cannot find his wayward son;<br>When the horn begins to blow,<br>He has to drop his light and run.<br>Of course he limps so slow<br>He squeezes through the very last,<br>When he is gone the naughty scamp<br>Jumps up and puff! out goes the lamp.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My Mother says that is the light,<br>Borne by the very bravest knight;<br>He is so very, very brave,<br>He would not leave his General's grave,<br>And when the Enemy General tries<br>To make him tell where his General lies,<br>He answers boldly, 'I--will--not!'<br>Then they shoot him on the spot,<br>And give a horrid, dreadful shout,<br>And then of course his light goes out.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sit and think when they are through,<br>Which tale I like best of the two.<br>Sometimes I like the _Father_ one;<br>It is such fun!<br>But then I love the _Mother_ one,<br>That dear brave soldier and the rest:--<br>_Now which one do you like the best?_</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Duncan+Campbell+Scott">Duncan Campbell Scott</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373420" data-title="Elizabeth Speaks de Duncan Campbell Scott" data-description="(Aetat Six)


Now every night we light the grate
And I sit up till _really_ late;
My Father sits upon the right,
My Mother on the left, and I
Between them on an ancient chair,
That once belonged to my Great-Gran,
Before my Father was a man.
We sit..."></div>
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