Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
P
<div class="poem">
<p>When you want hear coarsest jokes<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Passin' rude an' vile,</span><br />
Want to see de Kingston blokes,—<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Go up dere awhile:</span><br />
When you want hear murderin'<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> On de piano,</span><br />
An' all sorts o' drunken din,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Papine you mus' go.</span>
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>When you want know Sunday bright,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Tek a run up deh</span><br />
When 'bout eight o'clock at night<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Things are extra gay :</span><br />
Ef you want to see it cram',<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Wait tell night is dark,</span><br />
An' beneat' your breat' you'll damn<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Coney Island Park.</span>
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>When you want meet a surprise,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Tek de Papine track;</span><br />
Dere some things will meet you' eyes<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Mek you tu'n you' bac:</span><br />
When you want to see mankind<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Of "class "family</span><br />
In a way degra' them mind,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Go 'p deh, you will see.</span>
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>When you want see gals look fine,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> You mus' go up dere,</span><br />
An' you'll see them drinkin' wine<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> An' all sorts o' beer :</span><br />
There you'll see them walkin' out,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Each wid a young man,</span><br />
Watch them strollin' all about,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Flirtin' all dem can.</span>
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>When you want to be jus' broke,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Ride up wid your chum,</span><br />
Buy de best cigars to smoke<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> An' Finzi old rum:</span><br />
Stagger roun' de sort o' square<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> On to Fong Kin bar ;</span><br />
Keep as much strengt' dat can bear<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> You do'n in de car.</span>
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>When you want to meet a frien',<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Ride up to Papine,</span><br />
Where dere's people to no en',<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Old, young, fat an' lean:</span><br />
When you want nice gals fe court<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> An' to feel jus' booze',</span><br />
Go'p to Papine as a sport<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 3em;"> Dress' in ge'man clo'es.</span>
</p>
</div> +
A
<div class="poem">
<p>When, after serious deliberation, he decided to abandon the trip he said: "If I attempt this game again, I will construct a machine on peculiar lines. No man who expects to operate in the civilized portions of this continent would take the machine for his individual service about cities and throughout ordinary country, but I tell you it will go through sand—and this quicksand at that."
</p>
</div> +
T
<div class="poem">
<p>Where is there rose-garden,<br />
Where is there balcony among the cedars and pines,<br />
Where is there moonlit clearing in the dumb wilderness,<br />
Enchanted as this doorway, dark in the glare of the city?
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>Where may she of the hall bedroom hold the love-hour?<br />
In what sweet privacy find her soul before the face of the belovéd?<br />
And the kiss that lifts her from the noise of the shop,<br />
And the bitter carelessness of the streets?<br />
Neither is there garden nor secret parlor for her:<br />
And cruel winter has spoiled the shores of the sea;<br />
The benches in the park are laden with melting snow,<br />
And the bedroom forbidden...
</p>
</div> +
X
<div class="poem">
<p>Where the Sunday lads come talking motor bicycle and girl, <br />
Smoking cigarettes in chains until their heads are in a whirl.
</p>
</div> +
G
<div class="poem">
<p>Where the Sunday lads come talking motor bicycle and girl, <br />
Smoking cigarettes in chains until their heads are in a whirl.
</p>
</div> +
T
<div class="poem">
<p>While rises in the west the coastwise range,<br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 12em;"> slowly the hushed land—</span><br />
Combustion at the astral core—the dorsal change<br />
Of energy—convulsive shift of sand...<br />
But we, who round the capes, the promontories<br />
Where strange tongues vary messages of surf<br />
Below grey citadels, repeating to the stars<br />
The ancient names—return home to our own<br />
Hearths, there to eat an apple and recall<br />
The songs that gypsies dealt us at Marseille<br />
Or how the priests walked—slowly through Bombay—<br />
Or to read you, Walt,—knowing us in thrall
</p>
</div> +
C
<div class="poem">
<p>While scouting around, Fred found that the railroad company had a dining car there to serve meals to the train crews as they came in from their division runs, so he made arrangements for us to have our meals there.
</p>
</div> +
T
<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>Whose head is swinging from the swollen strap?<br />
Whose body smokes along the bitten rails,<br />
Bursts from a smoldering bundle far behind<br />
In back forks of the chasms of the brain,—<br />
Puffs from a riven stump far out behind<br />
In interborough fissures of the mind...?
</p>
</div> +
X
<div class="poem">
<p>Why bother where I went?<br />
for I went spinning on the
</p>
</div> +
A
<div class="poem">
<p>Why did you hate to be by yourself,<br />
And why were you sick of your own company?
</p>
</div> +
T
<div class="poem">
<p>Why do you always stand there shivering<br />
Between the white stream and the road?
</p>
</div> +
<div class="poem">
<p>With miles of road like polished floor,<br />
At sixty per and sometimes more,<br />
We glide with ease mid laughters peal,<br />
Safe at a Six Studebaker wheel.
</p>
</div> +
I
<div class="poem">
<p>With motor cars it’s just the same,<br />
What’s been put in comes out again.<br />
Now you can make your own deduction,<br />
From the Studebakers’ big production.
</p>
</div> +
