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    Fires - Book II The Ovens, and Other Tales
    Fires - Book II The Ovens, and Other Tales
    Fires - Book II The Ovens, and Other Tales
    Ebook58 pages38 minutes

    Fires - Book II The Ovens, and Other Tales

    By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

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    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Fires - Book II The Ovens, and Other Tales

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      Book preview

      Fires - Book II The Ovens, and Other Tales - Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

      FIRES - BOOK II

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.

      Title: Fires - Book II

      The Ovens, and Other Tales

      Author: Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

      Release Date: May 09, 2013 [EBook #42678]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: UTF-8

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRES - BOOK II ***

      Produced by Al Haines.

      FIRES

      BOOK II

      THE OVENS, AND OTHER TALES

      BY

      WILFRID WILSON GIBSON

      LONDON

      ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET

      M CM XII

      BY THE SAME WRITER

      WOMENKIND (1912)

      DAILY BREAD (1910)

      THE STONEFOLDS (1907)

      ON THE THRESHOLD (1907)

      CONTENTS

      The Crane

      The Lighthouse

      The Money

      The Snow

      Red Fox

      The Ovens

      Thanks are due to the editors of THE ENGLISH REVIEW, RHYTHM and THE NATION for leave to reprint some of these tales.

      FIRES

      THE CRANE

      The biggest crane on earth, it lifts

      Two hundred ton more easily

      Than I can lift my heavy head:

      And when it swings, the whole world shifts,

      Or so, at least, it seems to me,

      As, day and night, adream I lie

      Upon my crippled back in bed,

      And watch it up against the sky.

      My mother, hunching in her chair,

      Day-long, and stitching trousers there--

      At three-and-three the dozen pair...

      She'd sit all night, and stitch for me,

      Her son, if I could only wear...

      She never lifts her eyes to see

      The big crane swinging through the air.

      But, though she has no time to talk,

      She always cleans the window-pane,

      That I may see it, clear and plain:

      And, as I watch it move, I walk

      Who never walked in all my days...

      And, often, as I dream agaze,

      I'm up and out: and it is I

      Who swing the crane across the sky.

      Right up above the wharf I stand,

      And touch a lever with my hand,

      To lift a bunch of girders high,

      A truck of coal, a field of grain

      In sacks, a bundle of big trees,

      Or beasts, too frightened in my grip

      To wonder at their skiey trip:

      And then I let the long arm dip

      Without a hitch, without a slip,

      To set them safely in the ship

      That waits to take them overseas.

      My mother little dreams it's I,

      Up there, as tiny as a fly,

      Who stand above the biggest crane,

      And swing the ship-loads through the sky;

      While she sits, hunching in her chair,

      Day-long, and stitching trousers there--

      At three-and-three the dozen pair.

      And sometimes when it turns me dizzy,

      I lie and watch her, ever busy;

      And wonder at a lot of things

      I never speak to her about:

      I wonder why she never sings

      Like other people on the stair...

      And why, whenever she goes out

      Upon a windy day, the air

      Makes her sad eyes so strangely bright...

      And if the colour of her hair

      Was brown like mine, or always white...

      And

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