La Dispute
Seven
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2:28
32
| Добавлена 1 сентября 2011 пользователем Iron Man |
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Текст песни Seven
The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throats and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his small dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, and said, ‘Bother!’ Something up above was calling him.
So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, ‘Up we go! Up we go!’ till at last, pop! His snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.
‘This is fine!’ he said to himself. The sunshine struck hot on his fur, and, jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring, he pursued his way across the meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.
Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting—everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking him, he somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy citizens.
So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, ‘Up we go! Up we go!’ till at last, pop! His snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.
‘This is fine!’ he said to himself. The sunshine struck hot on his fur, and, jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring, he pursued his way across the meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.
Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting—everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking him, he somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy citizens.
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