Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
S
<div class="poem">
<p>There’s nothing to declaim about,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> We then did fairly shout.</span><br />
Then teacher said with nasty flout,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Keep still or you go out.</span><br />
But teacher loaned us many books,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> And all she did indorse,</span><br />
And that is how we came to tell<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> The school about the horse.</span>
</p>
</div> +
F
<div class="poem">
<p>These Indians believe that the Great Spirit has guided them to this promised land. They wandered here from the north, and we listened, standing with bare heads in an underground council chamber, to the recital in Spanish of the story of their faith. They are a fine example of the early American aristocracy at its best. They have some lessons for modern American society. In Taos, too, lived and lies Kit Carson, the hunter and trapper, scout and soldier.
</p>
</div> +
R
<div class="poem">
<p>These are your blood; their begetters<br />
made in the same bed as yours<br />
(horror of copulation),<br />
colossal promiscuity of flesh through centuries<br />
(seed and cemeteries).<br />
Sculptor! show Mars<br />
bloody in gas-lit abattoirs,<br />
Apollo organist of Saint Mary's,<br />
Venus of High Street, Athena,<br />
worshipped at National schools.<br />
Painter! there are beets in allotments,<br />
embankments, coal-yards, villas, grease,<br />
interpret the music, orchestra,<br />
trams, trains, cars, hobnails, factories—<br />
O poet! chant them to the pianola,<br />
to the metronome in faultless verse . . .
</p>
</div> +
D
<div class="poem">
<p>These men did not lament and say,<br />
No opportunities are there today,<br />
By grit and ambition, pluck and skill,<br />
They made opportunity through, "I Will."
</p>
</div> +
X
<div class="poem">
<p>These were boon companions who devised the legends for our tombs, <br />
These who have betrayed us nicely while we took them to our rooms.
</p>
</div> +
G
<div class="poem">
<p>These were boon companions who devised the legends for our tombs, <br />
These who have betrayed us nicely while we took them to our rooms.
</p>
</div> +
C
<div class="poem">
<p>These were not happy surroundings after dark. The hours passed slowly and the night was dark, and it seemed the car and I were deserted out there on the prairie among the sagebrush, when about ten o'clock I heard a harness chain rattle in the distance and knew help was on the way. A great relief came over me, although I don't think I had been in any danger. There was only one team in the town. When Fred located the driver, he was eating dinner and refused to stir until the horses were fed too. Fred could only sit and wait patiently until the man was in the mood to start, then he walked the horses all the way to the car.
</p>
</div> +
P
<div class="poem">
<p>They answer one’s questions, <br />
a deal table compact with the wall; <br />
in this dried bone of arrangement<br />
one’s “natural promptness” is compressed, not crowded out;<br />
one’s style is not lost in such simplicity.
</p>
</div> +
S
<div class="poem">
<p>They call this music very fine,<br />
Sung by the choir in perfect time,<br />
Here’s the music we prefer,<br />
A Studebaker engine’s purr.
</p>
</div> +
T
<div class="poem">
<p>They rise to proud and lofty height,<br />
Forbidding and dark are they at night.<br />
Their summits kiss the heavens high,<br />
They ever remind us God is nigh.
</p>
</div> +
S
<div class="poem">
<p>They talked of the weather careless and free,<br />
A topic on which they did all agree.<br />
When one would mention the income tax,<br />
It was an occasion to give it some whacks.
</p>
</div> +
O
<div class="poem">
<p>They would steal old master's horses,<br />
Fat and sleek and full of spirit;<br />
Steal them while that he was sleeping,<br />
Soundly sleeping in his mansion;<br />
From the stable would they steal them,<br />
Ride them upward through the valley<br />
To the place of fun and frolic,<br />
Till they reached the very doorway<br />
Of the place of fun and frolic.<br />
There a score or more of Negroes<br />
Would assemble in the night-time,<br />
Would assemble for their pleasure,<br />
After toiling hard the day long,<br />
After toiling hard the week long.<br />
Thus they whiled away their sorrow,<br />
Thus they made their burdens lighter,<br />
Thus they had their recreation,<br />
Through a life that was a struggle.
</p>
</div> +
S
<div class="poem">
<p>Things they discussed to no one was vital,<br />
Subjects were chosen for safety of title<br />
Till they took up a question a million years old<br />
Of vital concern to every one’s soul.
</p>
</div> +
A
<div class="poem">
<p>This fear has reared cities:<br />
The cowards flock together by the millions lest they <br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> should be left alone for a half hour...</span><br />
With church, theater and school,<br />
With office, mill and motor,<br />
With a thousand cunning devices, and clever calls to <br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> each other,</span><br />
They escape from themselves to the crowd...
</p>
</div> +
T
<div class="poem">
<p>This matter was most forcefully brought to my attention during June and July, 1924, when my wife and I made the journey overland from Iowa City, Iowa, to the Iowa Lakeside Laboratory, on West Lake Okoboji, Iowa, a distance of 316 miles. Parts of two days were occupied in the going journey on June 13 and 14, while approximately the same time was required for the return trip on July 15 and 16.
</p>
</div> +
C
<div class="poem">
<p>This morning, word came that William Howard Taft had been elected President, this being the day after the 1908 election. We went through an uninteresting, sagebrush-covered land, reaching California at Oasis, a ranch house and store with nothing near it for miles. Two young men were eating lunch but curtly refused to serve us a meal, not even a cup of tea for me. Upon inquiring the price of gasoline, one man said shortly, "Gasoline is a dollar a gallon. How much do you want?" Fred quietly replied, "None. We have plenty."
</p>
</div> +
O
<div class="poem">
<p>This rule is good for most every man,<br />
The more we do, the more we can.<br />
More busy we are, more leisure we have,<br />
For play to serve as our safety valve.
</p>
</div> +
C
<div class="poem">
<p>This was a happy climax and far beyond our expectations, because we had thought of the trip only as an advertising stunt for the Brush factory and the Brush Runabout.
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>This was the end in the west, and there was no way to show how dear the little grey car had become to us after carrying us across so many miles and through so many dangers. The chug of its one-cylinder engine had been the sweetest music in our ears during our month-long trip. I could only put my hand on the hood and choke back the tears.
</p>
</div> +
T
<div class="poem">
<p>Those hearts of the long ago we treasure,<br />
In the memory with unstinted measure,<br />
All gathered around that Christmas tree,<br />
Where the old homestead used to be.
</p>
</div> +
