 BEFORE EDGEHILL FIGHT by Rudyard Kipling redforlibrivox.org by Bruce Gachuk Naked and gray, the cots wall stand, beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand, where stour and avon run. There is no change in the patient land that has bred us, every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire, and saved us from this sin of war. Red war, twix child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy, midland shire, with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last, on the browhead or the plain, and the raw, astonished ranks stand fast to slay or to be slain by the men they knew in the kindly past that shall never come again, by the men they met at dance or chase in the tavern or the hall, at the justice bench and the marketplace, at the caudal play, or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbors all. More bitter than death this day must prove whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low their sister's sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven at last the trumpets peel before our strength gives way, for king or for the common wheel no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world today. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Before a chill fight by Roger Kipling, read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Naked and gray the Cotswolds stand beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand were stower and avon run. There is no change in the patient land that his brothers every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire and saved us from this sin of war. Red war, twixed child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last on the browhead or the plain, and the raw astonished ranks stand fast to slay, or to be slain by the men they knew in the kindly past, fit shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase in the tavern or the hall, at the justice bench and the marketplace, at the cudgel play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbours all. More bitter than death this day must prove whichever way it go. For the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low their sisters' sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. And, Kevin, at last the trumpets peel before our strength gives way. For king or for the common wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new drawn steel changes the world today. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Before Edge Hill Fight by Rudyard Kipling, read for LibriVox.org by Elsie Selwyn. Naked in gray the cotswolds stand beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand wear a stour and even run. There is no change in the patient land that has bred us every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire and saved us from this sin. Of war, red war, twix child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last on the browhead or the plane, and the raw astonished ranks stand fast to slay or to be slain, by the men they knew in the kindly past that shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase in the tavern or the hall, of the justice bench or the marketplace, at the cudgel play or the brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbors all. More better than death this day must prove whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready too lay low. Their sister's sweethearts as we move against her dearest foe. Thank heaven at last the trumpets peel before our strength gives way. For king or for the common wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of the new drawn steel changes the world today. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Before Edge Hill fight by Richard Kipling, read for librafox.org by phone. Naked and gray the cotswolds stand beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand were stour and even run. There is no change in the patient land that has bred us every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire and saved us from this sin of war, red war, to ex-child and sire, household and kiss and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last on the browhead or the plain, and to roll astonished ranks stand fast to slay or to be slain by the men they knew in the kindly past that shall never come again, by the men they met at dawn's or chase in the tavern or the hall, at the justice bench and the marketplace, at the cudgel-play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbours all. More bitter than death this day must prove whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low their sister's sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven, at last the trumpet's peel before our strength gives way, for king or for the common-wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world today. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Before Edge Hill fights, by Rudyard Kipling, read for Librivolta Talk, by Ian King. Naked in grey the cotswolds stand, beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand, where stour and avon run. There is no change in the patient land that has bred us every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire, and saved us from this sin of war, red war, twixt child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire, with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last, on the brow-head or the plane, and the roar-astonished ranks stand fast, to slay, or to be slain, by the men they knew in the kindly past, that shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase, in the tavern or the hall, at the justice-bench and the marketplace, at the cudgel-play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbours all. More bitter than death this day must prove, whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love, make ready to lay low their sisters' sweethearts, as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven, at last the trumpets peel, before our strength gives way, for king or for the common-wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel, changes the world today. Naked and gray the cuts walled stand, beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand, where stour and avon run, there is no change in the patient's land, that has bred us every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire, and saved us from this sin, of war, red war, twix child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire, where the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last, on the browhead or the plain, and the raw astonished ranks stand fast, to slay or to be slain, by the men they knew in the kindly past, that shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase, in the tavern or the hall, at the justice bench and the marketplace, at the cudgel play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbors all. More bitter than death this day must prove, whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low, their sisters' sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven at last the trumpet's peel before our strength gives way, for king or for the common will, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world to day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. In the stubble fields on neither hand, where stour and avon run, there is no change in the patient land that has bred us every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire and saved us from this sin, of war, red war, twix child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire, with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last, on the browhead or the plain, and the raw astonished ranks stand fast to slay or to be slain, by the men they knew in the kindly past that shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase, in the tavern or the hall, at the justice-bench, in the marketplace, at the cudgel-player brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbors all. More bitter than death this day must prove whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low, their sisters sweet hearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven, at last the trumpets peel before our strength gives way, for king over the common-wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world today. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Org by Kevin S. Naked in gray the cotswolds stand, beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields in either hand were stour and avon run. There is no change in the patient land that has bred us, every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire, and saved us from this sin of war. Red war tooks child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy middle and shire, with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last, on the browhead or the plane, and the raw stonish ranks stand fast to slay or to be slain, by the men they knew in the kindly past, that shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase, in the tavern or the hall, at the justice bench in the marketplace, at the cudgel play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbors all. More bitter than death this day must prove, whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low their sisters' sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven, at last the trumpets peel before our strength gives way, for king or for the common wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world today. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Naked and grey the cotswolds stand beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand were stour and avon run. There is no change in the patient land that has brothers, every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire and saved us from this sin of war, red war, twixt child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire, with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last on the brow-head or the plain, and the raw, astonished rank stand fast to slay or to be slain by the men they knew in the kindly past that shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase, in the tavern or the hall, at the justice-bench and the marketplace, at the cudgel-play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbors all. More bitter than death this day must prove whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low their sister's sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven, at last the trumpets' peel before our strength gives way. For King or for the common wheel, no matter which they say the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world to-day. Naked in grey the cultsworlds stand beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand wear stour and avon run. There is no change in the patient land that has bred us every one. She should have passed in cloud and fire and saved us from this sin of war, red war, twixt child and sire, household and kith and kin in the heart of a sleepy midland shire with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last on the browhead or the plain, and the raw astonished ranks stand fast to slay or to be slain by the men they knew in the kindly past that shall never come again. By the men they met at dance or chase in the tavern or the hall, at the justice bench and the marketplace, at the cudgel play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and rice, comrades or neighbors all. More bitter than death this day must prove, whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low their sisters' sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven at last the trumpets peel before our strength gives way, for king or for the common wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world to day and of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Before Edge Hill Fight by Rudyard Kipling read for Librebox.org by Thomas Peter. Naked and gray the carts will stand beneath the autumn sun, and the stubble fields on either hand were stowa and avon run. There is no change in the patient land that has bred us everyone. She should have passed in cloud and fire and saved us from this sin of war, red war, to its child and sire, household and kith and kin, in the heart of a sleepy midland shire, with the harvest scarcely in. But there is no change as we meet at last on the browhead or the plane, and the raw astonished ranks stand fast to slay or to be slain by the men they knew when the kindly passed that shall never come again. By the men they met at Danseau Chase, in the tavern or the hall, at the justice bench in the marketplace, at the cudgel play or brawl, of their own blood and speech and race, comrades or neighbors all. More bitter than death this day must prove, whichever way it go, for the brothers of the maids we love make ready to lay low their sisters' sweethearts as we move against our dearest foe. Thank heaven, at last the trumpets peel before our strength gives way, for king or for the common wheel, no matter which they say, the first dry rattle of new-drawn steel changes the world today.