A Ballad Of John Silver By John Masefield We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull, And we flew the pretty colours of the cross-bones and the skull; We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore, And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore. We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship, We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip; It's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored, But we chased the goodly mer...
Feb 27, 2020•4 min•Season 1Ep. 8
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening By Robert Lee Frost Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it's queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there's some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark, a...
Feb 24, 2020•3 min•Season 1Ep. 7
Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea: I am become a name; For ...
Feb 21, 2020•7 min•Season 1Ep. 6
Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares, we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting the clumsy helmets just in tim...
Feb 18, 2020•5 min•Season 1Ep. 5
Clancy Of The Overflow By Banjo Paterson I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago, He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him, Just `on spec', addressed as follows, `Clancy, of The Overflow'. And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected, (And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar) 'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it: `Clancy's gone to Que...
Feb 15, 2020•4 min•Season 1Ep. 4
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes PART ONE The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the...
Feb 12, 2020•11 min•Season 1Ep. 3
Ironic Poem About Prostitution By George Orwell (Eric Arthur Blair) When I was young and had no sense In far-off Mandalay I lost my heart to a Burmese girl As lovely as the day. Her skin was gold, her hair was jet, Her teeth were ivory; I said, 'for twenty silver pieces, Maiden, sleep with me'. She looked at me, so pure, so sad, The loveliest thing alive, And in her lisping, virgin voice, Stood out for twenty-five. Find us online at thatsnotcanon.com/epigraphy Subscribe to us on ITUNES , STITCHE...
Feb 11, 2020•2 min•Season 1Ep. 12
Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley I met a traveler from an antique land, Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look...
Feb 09, 2020•3 min•Season 1Ep. 2
Despair By H. P. Lovecraft O’er the midnight moorlands crying, Thro’ the cypress forests sighing, In the night-wind madly flying, Hellish forms with streaming hair; In the barren branches creaking, By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking, Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking; Damn’d daemons of despair. Once, I think I half remember, Ere the grey skies of November Quench’d my youth’s aspiring ember, Liv’d there such a thing as bliss; Skies that now are dark were beaming, Gold and azure, splendid see...
Feb 07, 2020•4 min•Season 1Ep. 1
