Breckie His Four Years 1914 1918
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In our eReader you can find the full English version of the book. Read Breckie His Four Years 1914 1918 Online - link to read the book on full screen. Our eReader also allows you to upload and read Pdf, Txt, ePub and fb2 books. In the Mini eReder on the page below you can quickly view all pages of the book - Read Book Breckie His Four Years 1914 1918
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• • • • • "From the open windows of the North room, which I occupy, I overlook that expanse of water over which the northern lights play often at night, and now and then I raise my grateful eyes to look across this loved spot. From a distance comes the voice of my little son at play — but close by me, closer than any but the dead can reach, is that other voice of my baby girl. I hear it in the lapping of the lake upon the shore, in the wind sighing softly in the cedar and hemlock trees ; I feel... it in the brave sunlight and the wide stretches of water and sky, and in the spicy odors of the forest. Perhaps that is why we are affected supremely by such things. Perhaps they are the voices of our dead, the voices of little children and babies who cannot reach us through any other language until we too are free.
• • • • • "But I still waken at night and imagine she is a live baby and I am nursing her, and Breckinridge (to whom I talk of his little sister who has gone to live beyond the stars) has asked me for "anuder 'ittle sister" that won't go so far away.
What to read after Breckie His Four Years 1914 1918?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Mary Breckinridge Thompson to read onlineMoreLess
To quickly assess the difficulty of the text, read a short excerpt:
• • • • • "From the open windows of the North room, which I occupy, I overlook that expanse of water over which the northern lights play often at night, and now and then I raise my grateful eyes to look across this loved spot. From a distance comes the voice of my little son at play — but close by me, closer than any but the dead can reach, is that other voice of my baby girl. I hear it in the lapping of the lake upon the shore, in the wind sighing softly in the cedar and hemlock trees ; I feel... it in the brave sunlight and the wide stretches of water and sky, and in the spicy odors of the forest. Perhaps that is why we are affected supremely by such things. Perhaps they are the voices of our dead, the voices of little children and babies who cannot reach us through any other language until we too are free.
• • • • • "But I still waken at night and imagine she is a live baby and I am nursing her, and Breckinridge (to whom I talk of his little sister who has gone to live beyond the stars) has asked me for "anuder 'ittle sister" that won't go so far away.
What to read after Breckie His Four Years 1914 1918?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Mary Breckinridge Thompson to read onlineMoreLess
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