Explore "Lindisfaire" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Horses go down the dingy lane, / But never a horse comes up again. / The greasy yard where the red hides lie / Marks the place where the horses die.
Wheat was sinking year by year, / I bought things cheap, I sold them dear; / Rent was heavy and taxes high, / And a weary-hearted man was I.