Monday, November 21, 2016

Ella Wheeler Wilcox - Wishing

       








Ella Wheeler Wilcox - Wishing

Do you wish the world were better?
Let me tell you what to do.
Set a watch upon your actions,
Keep them always straight and true.
Rid your mind of selfish motives,
Let your thoughts be clean and high.
You can make a little Eden
Of the sphere you occupy.

Do you wish the world were wiser?
Well, suppose you make a start
By accumulating wisdom
In the scrapbook of your heart.
Do not waste one page on folly;
Live to learn, and learn to live.
If you want to give men knowledge
You must get it ere you give.

Do you wish the world were happy?
Then remember day by day
Just to scatter seeds of kindness
as you pass along the way:
For the pleasures of many
May be oft times traced to one,
As the hand that plants an acorn
Shelters armies from the sun.











Rudyard-Kipling-The-Thousandth-Man

Rudyard Kipling - The Thousandth Man

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,
Will stick more close than a brother.
And it's worth while seeking him half your days
If you find him before the other.
Nine nundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you,
But the Thousandth man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Will settle the finding for 'ee.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.
But if he finds you and you find him.
The rest of the world don't matter;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk
Than he uses yours for his spendings,
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man h's worth 'em all,
Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,
In season or out of season.
Stand up and back it in all men's sight --
With that for your only reason!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide
The shame or mocking or laughter,
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side
To the gallows-foot -- and after!










James-Whitcomb-Riley-The-Stepmother

James Whitcomb Riley - The Stepmother

First she come to our house,
Tommy run and hid;
And Emily and Bob and me
We cried jus' like we did
When Mother died,--and we all said
'At we all wisht 'at we was dead!

And Nurse she couldn't stop us,
And Pa he tried and tried,--
We sobbed and shook and wouldn't look,
But only cried and cried;
And nen someone--we couldn't jus'
Tell who--was cryin' same as us!

Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her,
Her arms around us all--
'Cause Tom slid down the bannister
And peeked in from the hall.--
And we all love her, too, because
She's purt nigh good as Mother was!











William-Shakespeare-Sonnet-XXIX

William Shakespeare - Sonnet XXIX

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
   For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
   That then I scorn to change my state with kings.













Anna-Seward-Sonnet-LXXX

Anna Seward - Sonnet LXXX

As lightens the brown Hill to vivid green
When juvenescent April's showery Sun
Looks on its side, with golden glance, at Noon;
So on the gloom of Life's now faded scene
Shines the dear image of those days serene,
From Memory's consecrated treasures won;
The days that rose, ere youth, and years were flown,
Soft as the morn of May; - and well I ween
If they had clouds, in Time's alembic clear
They vanish'd all, and their gay vision glows
In brightness unobscur'd; and now they wear
A more than pristine sunniness, which throws
Those mild reflected lights that soften care,
Loss of lov'd Friends, and all the train of Woes.














Fernando-Pessoa-Sonnet-XXVII

Fernando Pessoa - Sonnet XXVII













John-OBrien-Said-Hanrahan

John O'Brien - Said Hanrahan

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan in accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began one frosty Sunday morn.
The congregation stood about coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought as it had done for years.
"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke; "Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke has seasons been so bad."

"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil, with which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel and chewed a piece of bark.
And so around the chorus ran, "It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out."
"The crops are done; ye'll have your work to save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke they're singin' out for rain.

"They're singin' out for rain," he said, "And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head, and gazed around the sky.
"There won't be grass, in any case, enough to feed an ass;
There's not a blade on Casey's place as I came down to Mass."
"If rain don't come this month," said Dan, and cleared his throat to speak -
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "If rain don't come this week."

A heavy silence seemed to steal on all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel, and chewed a piece of bark.
"We want an inch of rain, we do, "O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two, to put the danger past.
"If we don't get three inches, man, or four to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out."

In God's good time down came the rain; and all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane it drummed a homely tune.
And through the night it pattered still, and lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill kept talking to themselves.
It pelted, pelted all day long, a-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song way out to Back-o'-Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran, and dams filled overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "If this rain doesn't stop."
And stop it did, in God's good time; and spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime of green and pink and gold.
And days went by on dancing feet, with harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat nid-nodding o'er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face, as happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place went riding down to Mass.
While round the church in clothes genteel discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel, and chewed his piece of bark.
"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man, there will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out."













T-S-Eliot-Rhapsody-on-a-Windy-Night

T. S. Eliot - Rhapsody on a Windy Night

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.

The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."

The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."

The last twist of the knife.









Arthur-Adams-Reincarnation

Arthur Adams - Reincarnation











Edgar-Allan-Poe-The-Raven

Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!










T-S-Eliot-Preludes2

T. S. Eliot - Preludes

I
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.

II
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.

III
You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.

IV
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.

I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.










Sara-Teasdale-Open-Windows

Sara Teasdale - Open Windows

Out of the window a sea of green trees
   Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer;
They beckon and call me, "Come out in the sun!"
   But I cannot answer.

I am alone with Weakness and Pain,
   Sick abed and June is going,
I cannot keep her, she hurries by
   With the silver-green of her garments blowing.

Men and women pass in the street
   Glad of the shining sapphire weather,
But we know more of it than they,
   Pain and I together.

They are the runners in the sun,
   Breathless and blinded by the race,
But we are watchers in the shade
   Who speak with Wonder face to face.













Sara-Teasdale-Nightfall

Sara Teasdale - Nightfall

WE will never walk again
As we used to walk at night,
Watching our shadows lengthen
Under the gold street-light
When the snow was new and white.
We will never walk again
Slowly, we two,
In spring when the park is sweet
With midnight and with dew,
And the passers-by are few.
I sit and think of it all,
And the blue June twilight dies,—
Down in the clanging square
A street-piano cries
And stars come out in the skies.











Amy-Lowell-Mirage

Amy Lowell - Mirage

How is it that, being gone, you fill my days,
And all the long nights are made glad by thee?
No loneliness is this, nor misery,
But great content that these should be the ways
Whereby the Fancy, dreaming as she strays,
Makes bright and present what she would would be.
And who shall say if the reality
Is not with dreams so pregnant. For delays
And hindrances may bar the wished-for end;
A thousand misconceptions may prevent
Our souls from coming near enough to blend;
Let me but think we have the same intent,
That each one needs to call the other, "friend!"
It may be vain illusion. I'm content.













Sir-Henry-Newbolt-Messmates

Sir Henry Newbolt - Messmates

He gave us all a good-bye cheerily
At the first dawn of day;
We dropped him down the side full drearily
When the light died away.
It's a dead dark watch that he's a-keeping there,
And a long, long night that lags a-creeping there,
Where the Trades and the tides roll over him
And the great ships go by.

He's there alone with green seas rocking him
For a thousand miles round;
He's there alone with dumb things mocking him,
And we're homeward bound.
It's a long, lone watch that he's a-keeping there,
And a dead cold night that lags a-creeping there,
While the months and the years roll over him
And the great ships go by.

I wonder if the tramps come near enough
As they thrash to and fro,
And the battle-ships' bells ring clear enough
To be heard down below;
If through all the lone watch that he's a-keeping there,
And the long, cold night that lags a-creeping there,
The voices of the sailor-men shall comfort him
When the great ships go by.











Friedrich-Schiller-Hymn-to-Joy

Friedrich Schiller - Hymn to Joy

Joy, thou goddess, fair, immortal,
Offspring of Elysium,
Mad with rapture, to the portal
Of thy holy fame we come!
Fashion's laws, indeed, may sever,
But thy magic joins again;
All mankind are brethren ever
'Neath thy mild and gentle reign.

CHORUS.
Welcome, all ye myriad creatures!
Brethren, take the kiss of love!
Yes, the starry realms above
Hide a Father's smiling features!

He, that noble prize possessing--
He that boasts a friend that's true,
He whom woman's love is blessing,
Let him join the chorus too!
Aye, and he who but one spirit
On this earth can call his own!
He who no such bliss can merit,
Let him mourn his fate alone!

CHORUS.
All who Nature's tribes are swelling
Homage pay to sympathy;
For she guides us up on high,
Where the unknown has his dwelling.

From the breasts of kindly Nature
All of joy imbibe the dew;
Good and bad alike, each creature
Would her roseate path pursue.
'Tis through her the wine-cup maddens,
Love and friends to man she gives!
Bliss the meanest reptile gladdens,--
Near God's throne the cherub lives!

CHORUS.
Bow before him, all creation!
Mortals, own the God of love!
Seek him high the stars above,--
Yonder is his habitation!

Joy, in Nature's wide dominion,
Mightiest cause of all is found;
And 'tis joy that moves the pinion,
When the wheel of time goes round;
From the bud she lures the flower--
Suns from out their orbs of light;
Distant spheres obey her power,
Far beyond all mortal sight.

CHORUS.
As through heaven's expanse so glorious
In their orbits suns roll on,
Brethren, thus your proud race run,
Glad as warriors all-victorious!

Joy from truth's own glass of fire
Sweetly on the searcher smiles;
Lest on virtue's steeps he tire,
Joy the tedious path beguiles.
High on faith's bright hill before us,
See her banner proudly wave!
Joy, too, swells the angels' chorus,--
Bursts the bondage of the grave!

CHORUS.
Mortals, meekly wait for heaven
Suffer on in patient love!
In the starry realms above,
Bright rewards by God are given.

To the Gods we ne'er can render
Praise for every good they grant;
Let us, with devotion tender,
Minister to grief and want.
Quenched be hate and wrath forever,
Pardoned be our mortal foe--
May our tears upbraid him never,
No repentance bring him low!

CHORUS.
Sense of wrongs forget to treasure--
Brethren, live in perfect love!
In the starry realms above,
God will mete as we may measure.

Joy within the goblet flushes,
For the golden nectar, wine,
Every fierce emotion hushes,--
Fills the breast with fire divine.
Brethren, thus in rapture meeting,
Send ye round the brimming cup,--
Yonder kindly spirit greeting,
While the foam to heaven mounts up!

CHORUS.
He whom seraphs worship ever;
Whom the stars praise as they roll,
Yes to him now drain the bowl
Mortal eye can see him never!

Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken!
Aid where tears of virtue flow;
Faith to keep each promise spoken!
Truth alike to friend and foe!
'Neath kings' frowns a manly spirit!--
Brethren, noble is the prize--
Honor due to every merit!
Death to all the brood of lies!

CHORUS.
Draw the sacred circle closer!
By this bright wine plight your troth
To be faithful to your oath!
Swear it by the Star-Disposer!

Safety from the tyrant's power!
Mercy e'en to traitors base!
Hope in death's last solemn hour!
Pardon when before His face!
Lo, the dead shall rise to heaven!
Brethren hail the blest decree;
Every sin shall be forgiven,
Hell forever cease to be!

CHORUS.
When the golden bowl is broken,
Gentle sleep within the tomb!
Brethren, may a gracious doom
By the Judge of man be spoken!













Hilaire-Belloc-On-the-Gift-of-a-Book-to-a-Child

Hilaire Belloc - On the Gift of a Book to a Child

Child! do not throw this book about!
Refrain from the unholy pleasure
Of cutting all the pictures out!
Preserve it as your chiefest treasure.

Child, have you never heard it said
That you are heir to all the ages?
Why, then, your hands were never made
To tear these beautiful thick pages!

Your little hands were made to take
The better things and leave the worse ones:
They also may be used to shake
The Massive Paws of Elder Persons.

And when your prayers complete the day,
Darling, your little tiny hands
Were also made, I think, to pray
For men that lose their fairylands.












Eugenia-Enigma-694

Eugenia - Enigma 694













Herbert-Trench-Come-let-us-make-love-deathless

Herbert Trench - Come let us make love deathless

COME, let us make love deathless, thou and I,
  Seeing that our footing on the Earth is brief—
Seeing that her multitudes sweep out to die
  Mocking at all that passes their belief.
For standard of our love not theirs we take:        5
        If we go hence to-day,
Fill the high cup that is so soon to break
        With richer wine than they!

Ay, since beyond these walls no heavens there be,
  Joy to revive or wasted youth repair,        10
I’ll not bedim the lovely flame in thee,
  Nor sully the sad splendour that we wear.
Great be the love, if with the lover dies
        Our greatness past recall,
And nobler for the fading of those eyes        15
        The world seen once for all.










Archibald-Lampman-The-City

Archibald Lampman - The City










John-Quincy-Adams-Charles-the-Fifths-Clocks

John Quincy Adams - Charles the Fifth's Clocks

With Charles the Fifth art thou acquainted, reader?
Of Ferdinand and Isabel the grandson,
In ages past of Europe's realms file leader,
Among the mightiest of all ages, one.
Spaill, Germany, his sceptre swayed,
With feet victorious over France he trod,
Afric' and Italy his laws obeyed,
And either India trembled at his nod.
Well, reader, this same monarch mighty,
Like many of his stamp before,
Down to the latest of the set
Whose names I leave in blank, as yet!
And with Napoleon you may fill,
Or Alexander, as you will;
Charles, seated upon all his thrones,
With all his crowns upon his head,
Built piles on piles of human bones,
As if he meant to reign the sovereign of the dead.
He kept the world in uproar forty years,
And waded bloody oceans through;
Feasted on widows' and on orphans' tears,
And cities sacked, and millions slew.
And all the pranks of conquering heroes play'd,
A master workman at the royal trade,
The recipe approved time out of mind,
To win the hearts of all mankind.
But heroes, too, get weary of their trade;
Charles had a conscience, and grew old;
The gout sometimes an ugly visit paid;
A voice within unwelcome stories told,
That heroes, just like common men,
One day must die; and then
Of what might happen Charles was sore afraid.
Of Charles's wars, need little here be said;
Their causes were ambition, avarice, pride,
Despotic empire o'er the world to spread,
Revenge on Francis, who proclaimed he lied,
And chiefly Luther's heresies to quell;
To prove the wrong of Reformation
With fire, and sword, and desolation,
And save the souls of Protestants from hell.
But when the humor came to save his own,
Charles stripp'd off all his royal robes,
Dismissed his double globes,
Cast down his crowns, descended from his throne,
And with St. Jerome's monks retired, to die alone.
Charles had a maggot in the mind,
Restless, that needs must be of something thinking;
And now, to keep his spirits from sinking,
Employment often at a loss to find,
Much of his time he spent in prayer;
In penance for his evil deeds,
In saying masses, and in telling beads;
In self-chastisement, till he bled
A drop for every ton of others shed;
And much his little garden claim'd his care,
In planting cabbages and plucking seeds;
But these were simple occupations,
And Charles, so long ill empire's toils immers'd,
So deep in all their intricacies vers'd,
Some pastime needed, full of complications.
So long his study had been man,
His sport, his victim, man, of flesh and blood,
That now with art mechanic he began
To fashion manakins of wood.
Soon he became a skilful mechanician,
And made his mimic men with so much art,
They made St. Jerome's friars start,
And think their royal master a magician,
Leagued with the mother of all evil;
Like Dr. Faustus, soul-bound to the devil.
At last the fancy seized his brain,
Of perfect instruments for keeping time.
Watches and clocks he made, but all in vain;
He never could succeed to make them chime.
With choice chronometers he lin'd his cell;
No two at once would ever ring the bell.
Now mark the moral of my tale,
Which flash'd in sunbeams upon Charles's soul;
When he whose chisel could prevail
Alan's outward actions to control,
Scthlat his puppets seemed as good
As living men, though made of wood,
Yet ever baffled found his skill
To mould two watches to his will.
He smote his bosom with a sigh,
Exclaiming, " What a dolt was I,
By force constraining men to think alike,
And cannot make two clocks together strike!"









Christopher-Pearse-Cranch-Bird-Language

Christopher Pearse Cranch - Bird Language

One day in the bluest of summer weather,
Sketching under a whispering oak,
I heard five bobolinks laughing together
Over some ornithological joke.

What the fun was I couldn't discover.
Language of birds is a riddle on earth.
What could they find in whiteweed and clover
To split their sides with such musical mirth?

Was it some prank of the prodigal summer,
Face in the cloud or voice in the breeze,
Querulous catbird, woodpecker drummer,
Cawing of crows high over the trees?

Was it soame chipmunk's chatter, or weasel
Under the stone-wall stealthy and sly?
Or was the joke about me at my easel,
Trying to catch the tints of the sky?

Still they flew tipsily, shaking all over,
Bubbling with jollity, brimful of glee,
While I sat listening deep in the clover,
Wondering what their jargon could be.

'Twas but the voice of a morning the brightest
That ever dawned over yon shadowy hills;
'Twas but the song of all joy that is lightest,-
Sunshine breaking in laughter and trills.

Vain to conjecture the words they are singing;
Only by tones can we follow the tune
In the full heart of the summer fields ringing,
Ringing the rhythmical gladness of June!










Aubrey-Beardsley-The-Three-Musicians

Aubrey Beardsley - The Three Musicians

Along the path that skirts the wood,
            The three musicians wend their way,
Pleased with their thoughts, each other’s mood,
            Franz Himmel’s latest roundelay,
The morning’s work, a new-found theme,
                         their breakfast and the summer day.

One’s a soprano, lightly frocked
            In cool, white muslin that just shows
Her brown silk stockings gaily clocked,
            Plump arms and elbows tipped with rose,
And frills of petticoats and things, and outlines
                         as the warm wind blows.

Beside her a slim, gracious boy
            Hastens to mend her tresses’ fall,
And dies her favour to enjoy,
            And dies for réclame and recall
At Paris and St. Petersburg, Vienna and St. James’s Hall.

The third’s a Polish Pianist
            With big engagements everywhere,
A light heart and an iron wrist,            
            And shocks and shoals of yellow hair,
And fingers that can trill on sixths and fill beginners with despair.

The three musicians stroll along
            And pluck the ears of ripened corn,
Break into odds and ends of song,
            And mock the woods with Siegfried’s horn,
And fill the air with Gluck, and fill the tweeded tourist’s soul with scorn.

The Three Musicians
The Three Musicians - published version
The Polish genius lags behind,
            And, with some poppies in his hand,
Picks out the strings and wood and wind            
            Of an imaginary band,
Enchanted that for once his men obey
                          his beat and understand.

The charming cantatrice reclines
            And rests a moment where she sees
Her chateau’s roof that hotly shines
             Amid the dusky summer trees,
And fans herself, half shuts her eyes, and smoothes
                          the frock about her knees.

The gracious boy is at her feet,
            And weighs his courage with his chance;
His fears soon melt in noon-day heat.
            The tourist gives a furious glance,
Red as his guide-book grows, moves on,
                          and offers up a prayer for France.













Short-Poetry-Collection-157

Short Poetry Collection 157















Conteúdo completo disponível em:










Links:


Billboard Hot 100 - Letras de Músicas | Song Lyrics - Songtext - Testo Canzone - Paroles Musique - 歌曲歌词 - 歌詞 - كلمات الاغنية - песни Текст

Educação Infantil - Vídeos, Jogos e Atividades Educativas para crianças de 4 à 11 anos

Biomas Brasileiros

Prédios mais altos do Mundo

Norte Catarinense (Mesorregião)

Ribeirão Preto (Mesorregião)

Norte Central (Mesorregião)

A população atual do estado de Mato Grosso do Sul

Rio de Janeiro - Representação e Localização

Em busca da água que sustenta a vida

Arquitetura e estética no Brasil

Civilização Islâmica - História em 1 Minuto

Dom Casmurro - Machado de Assis

Quincas Borba - Machado de Assis

Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas - Machado de Assis

O Diário de Anne Frank

Mein Kampf - Adolf Hitler

Salmos 55 - Bíblia

TOP 10: Poesia - Poemas em Português, Espanhol, francês e inglês


Velhas Árvores - Olavo Bilac

Marabá - Gonçalves Dias

Los Naranjos

Lorsque l'enfant paraît - Victor Hugo

Fim - Mário de Sá-Carneiro

Sonnet 18 - William Shakespeare

Vos Que, Dolhos Suaves e Serenos

Sonho Branco - Broquéis - João da Cruz e Sousa

Bandido negro - Os Escravos - Castro Alves

As cismas do destino - Augusto dos Anjos - Eu e Outras Poesia

TOP 50: PDF para Download - Domínio Público


Livros em PDF para Download

O Mito de Sísifo - Albert Camus

The Diary of a Young Girl - The Definitive Edition - Anne Frank

Mein Kampf - Adolf Hitler - Download PDF Livro Online

Abel e Helena- Artur Azevedo

Outras Poesias - Augusto dos Anjos

Amor De Perdição - Camilo Castelo Branco

As Flores do Mal - Charles Baudelaire

David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

Faróis - Cruz e Sousa

Hell or The Inferno from The divine comedy - Dante Alighieri

A Ilustre Casa de Ramires - Eça de Queiros - PDF

Contos Extraordinários - Edgar Allan Poe

Canudos e outros temas - Euclides da Cunha - PDF

Livro Do Desassossego - Fernando Pessoa - Livros em PDF para Download

Gente Pobre - Fiódor Mikhailovitch Dostoiévsk - Fedor Dostoievski

O Último Magnata - Francis Scott Fitzgerald

The Metamorphosis - Franz Kafka - PDF

Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert - PDF

Moby Dick - Herman Melville

Teogonía - Hesíodo

Odisséia - Homero - Download

Ulisses - James Joyce

Emma - Jane Austen - Download PDF Livro Online

Fausto - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Viagens de Gulliver - Jonathan Swift

Alfarrábios: o Ermitão da Glória - José de Alencar

O Coração das Trevas - Joseph Conrad

A mulher de Anacleto - Lima Barreto - Livros em PDF para Download

Anna Karenina - Leon Tolstói - Download

Os Lusíadas - Luís Vaz de Camões - Download

Machado de Assis

A Cartomante - Machado de Assis - PDF Download Livro Online

Les Essais - Michel de Montaigne - PDF

Marcel Proust - Download PDF Livro Online

Amar verbo intransitivo - Mário de Andrade - PDF Download Livro Online

Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

As jóias da Coroa - Raul Pompeia - PDF Download Livro Online

Antigonas - Sófocles

A Montanha Mágica - Thomas Mann

Eeldrop and Appleplex - T. S. Eliot - Thomas Stearns Eliot

Marília De Dirceu - Tomás Antônio Gonzaga - PDF Download Livro Online

O Corcunda de Notre-Dame - Victor Hugo - PDF Download Livro Online

Eneida - Virgilio

O Quarto de Jacob - Virginia Woolf - PDF

A Tempestade - William-Shakespeare - Livros em PDF para Download

O Som e a Fúria - William Faulkner

Bíblia Sagrada - João Ferreira de Almeida - Bíblia

Bíblia Sagrada - Católica

O Vermelho e o Negro - Stendhal - Henri-Marie Beyle

O Homem Sem Qualidades - Robert Musil

TOP 20: Billboard - Letras de Músicas - Song Lyrics - Songtext


Kill A Word - Eric Church Featuring Rhiannon Giddens

Selfish - PnB Rock

Setting Fires - The Chainsmokers Featuring XYLO

Bounce Back - Big Sean

Used To This - Future Featuring Drake

On The Regular - Meek Mill

Two Birds, One Stone - Drake

Offended - Meek Mill Featuring Young Thug & 21 Savage

Froze - Meek Mill Featuring Lil Uzi Vert & Nicki Minaj

Better Man - Little Big Town

What They Want - Russ - Song Lyrics

Hallelujah - Pentatonix - Letras de Música

Closer - The Chainsmokers ft. Halsey - Letras de Música

Chill Bill - Rob $tone ft. J. Davi$ & Spooks - Song Lyrics

Do You Mind - DJ Khaled ft. Nicki Minaj, Chris Brown & August Alsina - Letras de Música

Juju On That Beat (TZ Anthem) - Zay Hilfigerrr & Zayion McCall - Letras de Música

Starboy - The Weeknd feat Daft Punk - Song Lyrics

Audiobook, Educação Infantil, Ensino Fundamental


Jogos para Crianças - Atividades Educativas Ensino Fundamental

Jogos para Crianças - Atividades Educativas Ensino Fundamental

Jogos para Crianças - Atividades Educativas Ensino Fundamental

Jogos para Crianças - Atividades Educativas Ensino Fundamental

Jogos para Crianças - Atividades Educativas Ensino Fundamental

Atividades Educativas Ensino Fundamental - Aprendendo sobre o Dinheiro

Progress 4GL - DDK-GUI - Datasul

Your Attidute Against SAP Business All-In-One Projects

Lima Barreto - Quase ela deu o sim, mas...

Esaú e Jacó - Machado de Assis

Diva - José de Alencar

A Dívida - Artur de Azevedo

Luís Soares - Contos Fluminenses e Histórias da Meia-Noite - 01 - Machado de Assis

Singularidades de uma rapariga loura, parte 2 - Contos de Eça de Queirós

Um Club da Má Língua - Fiódor Dostoiévski

Casa Velha - Machado de Assis

Amor de Perdição - Camilo Castelo Branco

À Margem da História - Euclides da Cunha

A Tempestade; Morte de Iracema; O Pampa - Eugênio Werneck - Antologia Brasileira

Os Sertões - Euclides da Cunha

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

TOP 50: BLOG by Sanderlei Silveira


Bounce Back - Big Sean

All at Sea - Frederick Moxon

Biomas brasileiros - Santa Catarina SC - Conheça seu Estado (História e Geografia)

As festas populares no estado de São Paulo - SP

Os imigrantes no século XIX e XX no estado do Paraná - PR

Pantanal – Patrimônio Natural da Humanidade - MS

Os símbolos do estado do Rio de Janeiro - RJ

Prédios mais altos do Mundo e do Brasil (Atualizado até 11/2016)

Idade das Religiões - História

Los Naranjos - Ignacio Manuel Altamirano

How Do I Love Thee? - Sonnet 43 - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Tendências de mercado - Economia em 1 Minuto

Ismalia - Alphonsus de Guimaraens

POVO E RAÇA - Mein Kampf (Minha luta) - Adolf Hitler

Capítulo VI - A FRANCESA E O GIGANTE - Macunaíma - Mário de Andrade

Comentários da semana - Crônica - Machado de Assis

CAPÍTULO X / A ENFERMA - Helena - Machado de Assis

Tu, só tu, puro amor - Teatro - Machado de Assis

CAPÍTULO VI / O POST SCRIPTUM - A Mão e a Luva

AS BODAS DE LUÍS DUARTE

CAPÍTULO IV - Quincas Borba - Machado de Assis

Poesias dispersas - Machado de Assis

TIO COSME - Dom Casmurro

A CHINELA TURCA - Papéis Avulsos

RAZÃO CONTRA SANDICE - Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas - Machado de Assis

NEM CASAL, NEM GENERAL - Esaú e Jacó - Machado de Assis

Age of Religions - History

La Edad de las Religiones - Historia

Salmos 22 - Bíblia

Totvs - Datasul - Treinamento Online (Gratuito)

SAP Business All-In-One Rapid-Deployment Solution Overview

O HOMEM - Os Sertões - Euclides da Cunha - Áudio Livro

Crônica dos burros - Machado de Assis - Áudio Livro

Querida Kitty - O Diário de Anne Frank

Iaiá Garcia – Machado de Assis - Livros em PDF para Download (Domínio Público)

Curso de Inglês Online - Grátis e Completo

Curso de Espanhol Online - Grátis e Completo

Hamlet - William Shakespeare - AudioBook

Contos - Lima Barreto - Áudio Livro - Audiobook

A Conselho do Marido - Contos - Artur de Azevedo

Diva - José de Alencar - Audiobook

A mãe do cativo - Os Escravos - Castro Alves

Antífona - Broquéis - João da Cruz e Sousa

Civilização - Contos de Eça de Queirós

A Esperança - Augusto dos Anjos - Eu e Outras Poesias

Amor é fogo que arde sem se ver - Sonetos - Poemas de Amor - Luís Vaz de Camões

Material de apoio para Pais e Professores - Educação Infantil - Nível 1 (crianças entre 4 a 6 anos)

Festa de Aniversário - Educação Infantil - Nível 2 (crianças entre 5 a 7 anos)

Aluno - Educação Infantil - Nível 3 (crianças entre 6 a 8 anos)

Descobrimento do Brasil - Educação Infantil - Nível 4 (crianças entre 7 a 9 anos)

Água - Educação Infantil - Nível 5 (crianças entre 8 a 10 anos)

Alface - Educação Infantil - Nível 6 (crianças entre 9 a 11 anos)


No comments:

Post a Comment