Outing . s worl; my hapness dat Ihave plan was steal from me by de manI was love bes, an de revenge I washug like one real joy dat is steal fromme by de womans I bes ! Well,Msieur, I feel as tough I has notingto live for. For de firs time I look up as I tink dis, an I see dat I is at de run-way where I has met dat strangemans. By gar, sir, as I tink of how hehas screech and run I tink I wish I hadsee hees face, an, by gar, I would neverneed make dat promise to would have kill him den, for now Iwas sure it was Gregoire. I was keep on walk ver fas, for Iwas much excite ; and
Outing . s worl; my hapness dat Ihave plan was steal from me by de manI was love bes, an de revenge I washug like one real joy dat is steal fromme by de womans I bes ! Well,Msieur, I feel as tough I has notingto live for. For de firs time I look up as I tink dis, an I see dat I is at de run-way where I has met dat strangemans. By gar, sir, as I tink of how hehas screech and run I tink I wish I hadsee hees face, an, by gar, I would neverneed make dat promise to would have kill him den, for now Iwas sure it was Gregoire. I was keep on walk ver fas, for Iwas much excite ; and pretty soon Isaw an ol wool mitten lie frozen to desnow near de edge of a lil ravine. Idon know why I have look over, but Idid, an den I pull off my snow-shoe anclimb down. Why have I do dat ? Cause I witmy sharp eye have see someting on derock below. Msieur, when I go backto dat poor Toinnette I mus tell hershe was widow! I have foun de manwat try kill me, de robber of my trap,an my false frien THI )©NO ©F THE VHiiL WHIRL and click of sprocket and chain,Shimmer and flash of steel,Throb of pedal, and saddle-creak,This is the Song of the Wheel. Think you, you of the shoulder-shrug, you of the scornful glance,That I am only the seasons fad, slipped into vogue by chance,Toy of the moments childish whim, til next years fancy? Nay,I am the balanced, whirling, swift, still Spirit of To-day. Tyrant am I of the woodland road ; Mercury of the street,Slipping soundless athwart the rush, fragile, elusive, fleet,Whispering over the asphalt, ghost-like I glide through the Park,Flickering my firefly light along the driveways in the dark. They know me in the far defiles where Kurdish bandits wait,You may trace the curve of my serpents track through Bagdads storied gate, Across their stretches gray, the Persians watch me gleam,To the endless sleep their cities keep I come, a disturbing dream. Whereer the sun my cobweb strands (spun-wire of spoke) hath kissed The annaled praise of
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade, booksubjectsports, booksubjecttravel
