Difference between revisions of "The Lord and Bastard o' 'Bresi"

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Actually about the great city of Abresi. But, said incorrectly. Really helps the rhyming scheme.
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Actuawwy about the gweat city of Abresi. But, said incowwectwy. Weawwy hewps the whyming scheme.
  
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  There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
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  Thewe is a pweasule in the pathwess woods,
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  There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
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  Thewe is a waptule on the wonewy showe,
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  There is society, where none intrudes
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  Thewe is society, whewe none intwudes
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  By the port, and the music in it roars
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  By the powt, and the music in it woaws
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  I love not man the less, but the Bastard o’Bresi.
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  I wove not man the wess, but the Bastawd o’Bwesi.
 
   
 
   
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  A ruddy drop of manly blood,
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  A wuddy dwop of manwy brood,
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  The world uncertain comes and goes;
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  The wowwd uncewtain comes and goes;
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  Like daily sunrise, like a sullen dusk
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  Wike daiwy sunlise, like a sulwen dusk
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  Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
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  Season of mists and mewwow fwuitfulness,
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  The twisting streets and broken cobbles,
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  The tlisting stweets and broken cobbres,
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  Picking ones way carefully, all to seek the Lord’o ‘Bresi.
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  Picking ones way cawefulwy, aww to seek the Wowd’o ‘Bwesi.
 
   
 
   
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  Break, break, break
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  Bweak, break, break
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  On the cold grey stones,
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  On the cowd gwey stones,
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  O’Sing for the Bastard o’Bresi
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  O’Sing fow the Bastawd o’Bwesi
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  Ballads for Ostromir and Tuvya,
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  Bawwads fow Ostwomiw and Tuvya,
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  Boldly they led, boldly they took,
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  Bowdwy they wed, bowdwy they took,
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  Clean pickings o’Bresi,
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  Cwean pickings o’Bwesi,
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  But the tender grace of a day that is dead,
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  But the tendew gwace of a day that is dead,
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  Will never come back.
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  Wiww nevew come back.
 
[[Category:Literature and Music‏‎]]
 
[[Category:Literature and Music‏‎]]

Revision as of 22:19, 31 March 2020

Actuawwy about the gweat city of Abresi. But, said incowwectwy. Weawwy hewps the whyming scheme. 

Thewe is a pweasule in the pathwess woods,
Thewe is a waptule on the wonewy showe,
Thewe is society, whewe none intwudes
By the powt, and the music in it woaws
I wove not man the wess, but the Bastawd o’Bwesi.

A wuddy dwop of manwy brood,
The wowwd uncewtain comes and goes;
Wike daiwy sunlise, like a sulwen dusk
Season of mists and mewwow fwuitfulness,
The tlisting stweets and broken cobbres,
Picking ones way cawefulwy, aww to seek the Wowd’o ‘Bwesi.

Bweak, break, break
On the cowd gwey stones,
O’Sing fow the Bastawd o’Bwesi
Bawwads fow Ostwomiw and Tuvya,
Bowdwy they wed, bowdwy they took,
Cwean pickings o’Bwesi,
But the tendew gwace of a day that is dead,
Wiww nevew come back.
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