Stories & Poems
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
Irish (Eastern- Leinster, Dublin) Irish (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils with an anxiety that almost amounted to agony. I collected the instruments of life around me that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning. The rain patter did dismally against the pains, and my candle was nearly burnt out when, by the glimmer of the half extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open. It breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs. The caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence. At last, the caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and addressed her in a language sleepy voice. Who were you? Said the caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation, Alice replied, rather shyly. I hardly know, sir. Just at present. At least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then. What do you mean by that? Said the caterpillar Sterling, Explain yourself. I can't explain myself. I'm afraid, sir, said Alice. Because I'm not myself. You see, I don't see, said the Caterpillar. I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly. Alice replied very politely, for I can't understand it myself. To begin with and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing. It isn't, said the caterpillar. The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky burns like a heated Opel through the air. We hoisted sail. The wind was blowing fair for the blue lands that to the eastward lie from the steep prow I marked with quickening I Zakynthos every olive grove and creek Ithaca is cliff Listen, snowy peak and all the flower strewn hills of Arkady, the flapping of the sail against the mast, the ripple of the water on the side, the ripple of girls, laughter at the stern. The only sounds when gone, the west to burn