Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
T
<div class="poem">
<p>And we laugh at Time as the tardy Hours<br />
In their gallop from Day’s red dawn<br />
Are outdistanced far in the swift-sped race<br />
By this product of brain and brawn.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p><span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 11em;"> <i>—The Car with Character.</i></span>
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>There’s not a man who doesn’t know,<br />
To pay is better as you go.<br />
You'll find if you do not keep up,<br />
You'll be forever on the jump.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>It’s not the savings that you make<br />
That turn into a rich man’s stake.<br />
It’s lessons soundly learned of thrift,<br />
That are to you a priceless gift.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Every man from day to day<br />
Should save a portion of his pay.<br />
If what you save is only small,<br />
Still it’s more than none at all.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>If some investments have not paid,<br />
From the savings you have made,<br />
The gift for thrift to you He gave,<br />
You cannot lose if still you save.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>The man who says no use at all,<br />
Because his pay is only small,<br />
Will say the same when multiplied,<br />
For saving he has never tried.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Just save a five and then a ten,<br />
And when you add some more again,<br />
You’re bound to make your saving score,<br />
Each little makes a little more.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>A motor car is like a man,<br />
Some cannot save and others can,<br />
The one of all that saves the most,<br />
It’s Studebaker’s right to boast.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Do not discouraged ever be<br />
Because the end you cannot see.<br />
Many possessing the lion’s part,<br />
Had to make the poor man’s start.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Go home, now, stranger, proud of your young stock,<br />
Stranger, turn back again, frustrate and vexed:<br />
This land, cut off, will not communicate,<br />
Be no accessory content to one<br />
Aimless for faces rather there than here.<br />
Beams from your car may cross a bedroom wall,<br />
They wake no sleeper; you may hear the wind<br />
Arriving driven from the ignorant sea<br />
To hurt itself on pane, on bark of elm<br />
Where sap unbaffled rises, being Spring;<br />
But seldom this. Near you, taller than grass,<br />
Ears poise before decision, scenting danger.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Who stands, the crux left of the watershed,<br />
On the wet road between the chafing grass<br />
Below him sees dismantled washing-floors,<br />
Snatches of tramline running to the wood,<br />
An industry already comatose,<br />
Yet sparsely living. A ramshackle engine<br />
At Cashwell raises water; for ten years<br />
It lay in flooded workings until this,<br />
Its latter office, grudgingly performed.<br />
And further here and there, though many dead<br />
Lie under the poor soil, some acts are chosen<br />
Taken from recent winters; two there were<br />
Cleaned out a damaged shaft by hand, clutching<br />
The winch the gale would tear them from; one died<br />
During a storm, the fells impassable,<br />
Not at his village, but in wooden shape<br />
Through long abandoned levels nosed his way<br />
And in his final valley went to ground.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>At ten A.M. the young housewife<br />
moves about in negligee behind<br />
the wooden walls of her husband's house.<br />
I pass solitary in my car.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>The noiseless wheels of my car<br />
rush with a crackling sound over<br />
dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Then again she comes to the curb<br />
to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands<br />
shy, uncorseted, tucking in<br />
stray ends of hair, and I compare her<br />
to a fallen leaf.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Only a man,<br />
A far fleck of shadow on the east<br />
Sitting at ease<br />
With his hands on a wheel<br />
And around him the large gray wings.<br />
Hold him, great soft wings,<br />
Keep and deal kindly, O wings,<br />
With the cool, calm shadow at the wheel.
</p>
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<div class="poem">
<p>Riding against the east,<br />
A veering, steady shadow<br />
Purrs the motor-call<br />
Of the man-bird<br />
Ready with the death-laughter<br />
In his throat<br />
And in his heart always<br />
The love of the big blue beyond.
</p>
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W
<div class="poem">
<p>In the old wars clutches of short swords and jabs into faces with spears.<br />
In the new wars long range guns and smashed walls, guns running a spit of metal and men falling in tens and twenties.<br />
In the wars to come new silent deaths, new silent hurlers not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>In the old wars kings quarreling and thousands of men following.<br />
In the new wars kings quarreling and millions of men following.<br />
In the wars to come kings kicked under the dust and millions of men following great causes not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.
</p>
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