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The Naulahka: A Story of West and East

 
dc.contributor Oxford Text Archive
dc.contributor.author Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936
dc.contributor.author Balestier, Wolcott, 1861-1891
dc.date.accessioned 2018-06-14
dc.date.accessioned 2019-07-04T10:35:34Z
dc.date.available 2019-07-04T10:35:34Z
dc.date.created 1892
dc.identifier ota:3288
dc.identifier.citation http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/3288
dc.identifier.uri http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.12024/3288
dc.description.abstract Resource deposited with the Oxford Text Archive.
dc.format.medium Digital bitstream
dc.format.mimetype text/xml
dc.language English
dc.language.iso eng
dc.publisher University of Oxford
dc.relation.ispartof Oxford Text Archive Core Collection
dc.relation.hasversion http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/k/kipling/rudyard/naulahka/
dc.rights Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License
dc.rights.uri http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/
dc.rights.label PUB
dc.title The Naulahka: A Story of West and East
dc.type Text
has.files yes
branding Oxford Text Archive
files.size 2798957
files.count 5
otaterms.date.range 1800-1899

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I There was a strife ‘twixt man and maid —     Oh that was at the birth o’ time! But what befell ‘twixt man and maid,     Oh that’s beyond the grip o’ rhyme. ’Twas: ‘Sweet, I must not bide wi’ you,’     And: ‘Love, I canna bide alone’; For baith were young, and baith were true,     And baith were hard as the nether stone. Auchinleck’s Ride. Nicholas Tarvin sat in the moonlight on the unrailed bridge that crossed the irrigating ditch above Topaz, dangling his feet over the stream. A brown, sad-eyed little woman sat beside him, staring quietly at the moon. She was tanned with the tan of the girl who does not mind wind and rain and sun, and her eyes were sad with the settled melancholy of eyes that know big mountains, and seas of plain, and care, and life. The women of the West shade such eyes under their hands at sunset in their cabin-doors, scanning those hills or those grassless, treeless plains for the homecoming of their men. A hard life is always hardest for the woman. Kate Sheriff . . .
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