18 ordspråk av Sir John Betjeman
Sir John Betjeman
And is it true? And is it true, / This most tremendous tale of all, / Seen in a stained-glass window's hue, / A Baby in an ox's stall?
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And now, dear Lord, I cannot wait/ Because I have a luncheon date.
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But I'm dying now and done for, / What on earth was all the fun for? / For I'm old and ill and terrified and tight.
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Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.
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Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough. / It isn't fit for humans now.
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Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough. / It isn't fit for humans now.
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I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.
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I know what I wanted to ask you;/ Is trifle sufficient for sweet?
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Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,/ Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun.
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Now if the harvest is over, And the world cold, Give me the bonus of laughter, As I lose hold.
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Pam, I adore you, Pam, you great big mountainous sports girl / Whizzing them over the net, full of the strength of five.
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People's backyards are much more interesting than their front gardens, and houses that back on to railways are public benefactors.
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Phone for the fish-knives, Norman, / As Cook is a little unnerved; / You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes / And I must have things daintily served.
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Silver and ermine and red faces full of port wine.
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Spirits of well-shot woodcock, partridge, snipe / Flutter and bear him up the Norfolk sky.
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