Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 15, 2025
There's hay-time o' the evening full o' soft, sweet smells aye, sweet as lad's first kiss; there's wheat-time at noon wi' the ears a-rustle and the whitt-whitt o' scythe and whetstone; there's night, Martin, and the long, black road dipping and a-winding, but wi' the beam o' light beyond, lad the good light as tells o' journey done, of companionship and welcomes and belike eyes o' love, with "
'There's a long, long trail a-winding." she hummed. Peter laughed. "Oh, my dear," he said, "was there ever anyone like you?" Langton was reading in his room when Peter looked in to say good-night. "Hullo!" he said. "See her home?" "Yes," said Peter. "What did you think of her?" "She's fathoms deep, I should say. But I should take care if I were you, my boy.
They invaded the 'fumoir', undaunted, to practise atrocious French on the phlegmatic steward; they took possession of a protesting piano in the banal little salon and sang: "We'll not come back till it's over over there." And in the evening, on the darkened decks, we listened and thrilled to the refrain: "There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams."
And he pictured himself drawing on a pair of gloves that way, importantly, finger by finger, with a little wave, of self- satisfaction when the gesture was completed.... He'd have to get that corporalship. "There's a long, long trail a-winding Through no man's land in France."
"There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams, Where the nightingales are singing And a white moon beams." How many times he had sung it in France! jolting along muddy, endless roads, heartsick, homesick. "There's a long, long night of waiting Until my dreams all come true, Till the day when I'll be going Down that long, long trail with you." What had "you" meant to him then?
They invaded the 'fumoir', undaunted, to practise atrocious French on the phlegmatic steward; they took possession of a protesting piano in the banal little salon and sang: "We'll not come back till it's over over there." And in the evening, on the darkened decks, we listened and thrilled to the refrain: "There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams."
Even the sombre sergeant who rarely spoke to anyone, sang. The company strode along, its ninety-six legs splashing jauntily through the deep putty-colored puddles. The packs swayed merrily from side to side as if it were they and not the legs that were walking. "There's a long, long trail a-winding Through no man's land in France." At last they were going somewhere.
Whistling "There's a long, long trail a-winding," Fuselli strode back into the inner room. "Combien chocolate?" he asked. When he had received the money, he sat down at his place at table again, smiling importantly. He must write Al about all this, he was thinking, and he was wondering vaguely whether Al had been drafted yet.
"Why, I haven't sung like this since I can remember," she laughed. The children were just finishing, "There's a long, long trail a-winding, into the land o' my dreams!" In the dim light Keineth was studying her aunt's face. Perhaps she had often been unkind in her thoughts; she might have known that Aunt Josephine must be very, very nice or she couldn't have been her father's sister!
Dickie smiled at the rapidly disappearing contents of his plate. He looked like a new man already. Nothing like a mussel-bake in the open air to make people forget their troubles. About the dying drift-wood fire, the service men drew closer together and began to sing. "There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking