The Star-Spangled Banner

O say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, 

O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming; 

And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; 

O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? 

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 

Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes, 

What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, 

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, 

In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; 

‘Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! 

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore 

That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion 

A home and a country should leave us no more? 

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution. 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave, 

From the terror of flight and the gloom of the grave; 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! 

O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation! 

Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n-rescued land, 

Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. 

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just. 

And this be our motto— “In God is our trust; " 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. 

~ Francis Scott Key

America The Beautiful

O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain,

For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet,

Whose stern, impassioned stress

A thoroughfare for freedom beat

Across the wilderness!

America! America!

God mend thine every flaw,

Confirm thy soul in self-control,

Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved

In liberating strife,

Who more than self their country loved,

And mercy more than life!

America! America!

May God thy gold refine,

Till all success be nobleness,

And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea!

~ Katharine Lee Bates

America

My country, ’tis of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing;

Land where my fathers died,

Land of the pilgrims’ pride, 

From every mountain-side

Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee,

Land of the noble free,

Thy name I love; 

I love thy rocks and rills,

Thy woods and templed hills;

My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze, 

And ring from all the trees,

Sweet freedom’s song;

Let mortal tongues awake,

Let all that breathe partake,

Let rocks their silence break,— 

The sound prolong.

Our fathers’ God, to Thee,

Author of liberty,

To Thee I sing;

Long may our land be bright 

With freedom’s holy light;

Protect us by thy might,

Great God our King.

~ Samuel Francis Smith

Yankee Doodle

Yankee Doodle went to town 

Riding on a pony, 

Stuck a feather in his cap 

And called it macaroni. 

CHORUS:

Yankee Doodle keep it up, 

Yankee Doodle dandy, 

Mind the music and the step, 

And with the girls be handy. 

Father and I went down to camp, 

Along with Captain Gooding, 

And there we saw the men and boys 

As thick as hasty pudding.

And there we saw a thousand men

As rich as Squire David,

And what they wasted every day,

I wish it could be saved.

The 'lasses they eat every day,

Would keep a house a winter;

They have so much, that I'll be bound,

They eat it when they've a mind to.

And there I see a swamping gun

Large as a log of maple,

Upon a deuced little cart,

A load for father's cattle.

And every time they shoot it off,

It takes a horn of powder,

And makes a noise like father's gun,

Only a nation louder.

~ Anonymous

FROM The Hasty Pudding

Let the green succotash with thee contend, 

Let beans and corn their sweetest juices blend, 

Let butter drench them in its yellow tide, 

And a long slice of bacon grace their side; 

Not all the plate, how famed soe’er it be, 

Can please my palate like a bowl of thee. 

Some talk of Hoe-Cake, fair Virginia’s pride, 

Rich Johnny-Cake, this mouth has often tried; 

Both please me well, their virtues much the same 

Alike their fabric, as allied their fame, 

Except in dear New England, where the last 

Receives a dash of pumpkin in the paste, 

To give it sweetness and improve the taste. 

But place them all before me, smoking hot, 

The big, round dumpling, rolling from the pot, 

The pudding of the bag, whose quivering breast, 

With suet lined, leads on the Yankee feast; 

The Charlotte brown, within whose crusty sides 

A belly soft the pulpy apple hides; 

The yellow bread whose face like amber glows, 

And all of Indian that the bake-pan knows,— 

You tempt me not—my fav’rite greets my eyes, 

To that loved bowl my spoon my instinct flies.

~ Joel Barlow

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea 

In a beautiful pea-green boat, 

They took some honey, and plenty of money, 

Wrapped up in a five-pound note. 

The Owl looked up to the stars above, 

And sang to a small guitar, 

"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love, 

What a beautiful Pussy you are, 

You are, 

You are! 

What a beautiful Pussy you are!" 

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! 

How charmingly sweet you sing! 

O let us be married! too long we have tarried: 

But what shall we do for a ring?" 

They sailed away, for a year and a day, 

To the land where the Bong-Tree grows 

And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood 

With a ring at the end of his nose, 

His nose, 

His nose, 

With a ring at the end of his nose. 

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling 

Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." 

So they took it away, and were married next day 

By the Turkey who lives on the hill. 

They dined on mince, and slices of quince, 

Which they ate with a runcible spoon; 

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 

They danced by the light of the moon, 

The moon, 

The moon, 

They danced by the light of the moon.

~ Edward Lear

The Height of the Ridiculous

I wrote some lines once on a time 

In wondrous merry mood, 

And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding good. 

They were so queer, so very queer, 

I laughed as I would die; 

Albeit, in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

I called my servant, and he came; 

How kind it was of him 

To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb. 

"These to the printer," I exclaimed, 

And, in my humorous way, 

I added, (as a trifling jest,) 

"There'll be the devil to pay." 

He took the paper, and I watched, 

And saw him peep within; 

At the first line he read, his face 

Was all upon the grin. 

He read the next; the grin grew broad, 

And shot from ear to ear; 

He read the third; a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 

The fourth; he broke into a roar; 

The fifth; his waistband split; 

The sixth; he burst five buttons off, 

And tumbled in a fit. 

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 

I watched that wretched man, 

And since, I never dare to write 

As funny as I can.

~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

Judged by the Company One Keeps

One night in late October,

When I was far from sober,

Returning with my load with manly pride,

My feet began to stutter,

So I lay down in the gutter,

And a pig came near and lay down by my side;

A lady passing by was heard to say:

"You can tell a man who boozes,

By the company he chooses,"

And the pig got up and slowly walked away.

~ Anonymous

The Common Cormorant

The common cormorant or shag

Lays eggs inside a paper bag

The reason you will see no doubt

It is to keep the lightning out.

But what these unobservant birds

Have never noticed is that herds

Of wandering bears may come with buns

And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

~ Anonymous

Limerick

There was an old man of Tarentum,

Who gnashed his false teeth till he bent ’em:

When they asked him the cost

Of what he had lost,

He replied “I can’t say, for I rent ’em!”

There were three young women of Birmingham,

And I know a sad story concerning 'em:

They stuck needles and pins

In the reverend shins

Of the Bishop engaged in confirming 'em.

There was a young lady of Wilts,

Who walked up to Scotland on stilts;

When they said it was shocking

To show so much stocking,

She answered: "Then what about kilts?"

There once was a girl of Lahore,

The same shape behind as before.

As no one knew where 

To offer a chair,

She had to sit down on the floor.

~ Cosmo Monkhouse

Limerick

A man hired by John Smith and Co.

Loudly declared that he'd tho.

Men that he saw

Dumping dirt near his door ---

The drivers, therefore, didn't do. 

~ Mark Twain

Limerick

There was a young lady of Ryde,

Who ate some green apples and died;

The apples fermented

Inside the lamented,

And made cider inside her inside.

~ Anonymous

Limerick

I'd rather have fingers than toes; 

I'd rather have ears than a nose; 

As for my hair, 

I'm glad it's still there,

I'll be awfully sad when it goes.

~ Gelett Burgess 

Limerick

His sister named Lucy O’Finner,

Grew constantly thinner and thinner;

The reason was plain,

She slept in the rain,

And was never allowed any dinner.

~ Lewis Carrol

Horse Sense

A horse can’t pull while kicking.

This fact I merely mention.

And he can’t kick while pulling,

Which is our chief contention.

Let’s imitate the good old horse

And lead a life that’s fitting;

Just pull an honest load, and then

There’ll be no time for kicking.

~ Anonymous

Nightmare

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is

taboo'd by anxiety,

I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in

without impropriety;

For your brain is on fire - the bedclothes conspire of usual

slumber to plunder you:

First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your sheet

slips demurely from under you;

Then the blanketing tickles - you feel like mixed pickles, so

terribly sharp is the pricking,

And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till

there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.

Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick

'em all up in a tangle;

Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its

usual angle!

Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eyeballs

and head ever aching,

But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very

much better be waking;

For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a

steamer from Harwich,

Which is something between a large bathing-machine and a very small

second-class carriage;

And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of

friends and relations -

They're a ravenous horde - and they all came on board at Sloane

Square and South Kensington Stations.

And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that

morning from Devon);

He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells

you he's only eleven.

Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the bye

the ship's now a four-wheeler),

And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you

tell him that "ties pay the dealer";

But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find

you're as cold as an icicle,

In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks),

crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:

And he and the crew are on bicycles too - which they've somehow or

other invested in -

And he's telling the tars all the particuLARS of a company he's

interested in -

It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods from

cough mixtures to cables

(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they

were all vegeTAbles -

You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off

his boots with a boot-tree),

And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and

they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree -

From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea,

cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries,

While the pastry-cook plant cherry-brandy will grant - apple puffs,

and three-corners, and banberries -

The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by ROTHSCHILD

and BARING,

And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder

despairing -

You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder

you snore, for your head's on the floor, and you've needles and

pins from your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for

your left leg's asleep, and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on

your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and

a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been

sleeping in clover;

But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last, and the

night has been long - ditto, ditto my song - and thank goodness

they're both of them over!

~ W.S. Gilbert

The Smoking World

Tobacco is a dirty weed:

I like it.

It satisfies no normal need:

I like it.

It makes you thin, it makes you lean,

It takes the hair right off your bean,

Its the worst darn stuff I've ever seen:

I like it.

~ Graham Lee Hemminger

How Doth the Little Crocodile

How doth the little crocodile 

Improve his shining tail;

And pour the waters of the Nile 

On every golden scale! 

How cheerfully he seems to grin, 

How neatly spreads his claws, 

And welcomes little fishes in, 

With gently smiling jaws!

~ Lewis Carroll

The Pobble Who Has No Toes

The Pobble who has no toes

Had once as many as we;

When they said, 'Some day you may lose them all;'--

He replied, -- 'Fish fiddle de-dee!'

And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink,

Lavender water tinged with pink,

For she said, 'The World in general knows

There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!'

The Pobble who has no toes,

Swam across the Bristol Channel;

But before he set out he wrapped his nose,

In a piece of scarlet flannel.

For his Aunt Jobiska said, 'No harm

'Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;

'And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes

'Are safe, -- provided he minds his nose.'

The Pobble swam fast and well

And when boats or ships came near him

He tinkedly-binkledy-winkled a bell

So that all the world could hear him.

And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,

When they saw him nearing the further side,--

'He has gone to fish, for his Aunt Jobiska's

'Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!'

But before he touched the shore,

The shore of the Bristol Channel,

A sea-green Porpoise carried away

His wrapper of scarlet flannel.

And when he came to observe his feet

Formerly garnished with toes so neat

His face at once became forlorn

On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

And nobody ever knew

From that dark day to the present,

Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,

In a manner so far from pleasant.

Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,

Or crafty Mermaids stole them away --

Nobody knew; and nobody knows

How the Pebble was robbed of his twice five toes!

The Pobble who has no toes

Was placed in a friendly Bark,

And they rowed him back, and carried him up,

To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.

And she made him a feast at his earnest wish

Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;--

And she said,-- 'It's a fact the whole world knows,

'That Pebbles are happier without their toes.'

~ Edward Lear

There Was a Man So Wise

There was a Man so wise, 

He jumped into 

A Bramble Bush,

 And scratcht out both his eyes. 

And when he saw,

His Eyes were out, 

And had reason to Complain,

He jumpt into a Quickset Hedge,

And Scratcht them in again.

~ Anonymous

Three Young Rats with Black Felt Hats

Three young rats with black felt hats,

Three young ducks with white straw flats,

Three young dogs with curling tails,

Three young cats with demi-veils,

Went out to walk with two young pigs

In satin vests and sorrel wings,

But suddenly it chanced to rain

And so they all went home again.

~ Anonymous

Disgusting

In the boarding house where I live

Things are getting very old.

Long gray hairs in the butter,

 And the cheese is green with mold,

When the dog died we had sausage,

 When the cat died, catnip tea.

When the landlord died I left it; 

Spareribs are too much for me.

~ Anonymous

Dried Apple Pies

I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,

Abominate dried-apple pies.

I like good bread, I like good meat,

Or anything that's fit to eat;

But of all poor grub beneath the skies,

The poorest is dried apple pies.

Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,

But don't give me dried apple pies.

The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit,

'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;

He leaves the hulls to make us cough,

And don't take half the peeling off.

Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung

And in a garret window hung,

And there it serves as roost for flies,

Until it's made up into pies.

Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,

But don't pass me dried-apple pies.

~ Anonymous

To a Segar

Sweet antidote to sorrow, toil and strife,

Charm against discontent and wrinkled care,

Who knows thy power can never know despair;

Who knows thee not, one solace lacks of life:

When cares oppress, or when the busy day

Gives place to tranquil eve, a single puff

Can drive ev'n want and lassitude away,

And give a mourner happiness enough.

From thee when curling clouds of incense rise,

They hide each evil that in prospect lies;

But when in evanescence fades thy smoke,

Ah! what, dear sedative, my cares shall smother?

If thou evaporate, the charm is broke,

Till I, departing taper, light another.

~ Samuel Low

Too Great a Sacrifice

The maid, as by the papers doth appear, 

Whom fifty thousand dollars made so dear, 

To test Lothario’s passion, simply said, 

“Forego the weed before we go to wed. 

For smoke take flame; I ’ll be that flame’s bright fanner.

To have your Anna, give up your Havana.” 

But he, when thus she brought him to the scratch, 

Lit his cigar and threw away his match.

~ Anonymous

The Scent of a Good Cigar

What is it comes through the deepening dusk, --

Something sweeter than jasmine scent

Sweeter than rose and biolet blent, 

More potent in power than orange or musk?

The scent of a good cigar.

I am all alone in my quiet room,

And the windows are open wide and free

To let in the south winds kiss for me

While I rock in the softly gathering gloom, 

And that subtle fragrance steals.

Just as a loving, tender hand

Will sometimes steal in yours, 

It softly comes through the open doors, 

And memory wakes at its command,--

The scent of a good cigar.

And what does it say? Ah! That's for me

And my heart alone to know;

But that heart thrills with a sudden glow, 

Tears fill my eyes till I cannot see,--

From the scent of that good cigar.

~ Kate A. Carrington

Get Up, Get Up

Get up, get up, you lazy-head,

Get up, you lazy sinner,

We need those sheets for tablecloths,

It's nearly time for dinner.

~ Anonymous

The Moron

See the happy moron,

He doesn’t give a damn!

I wish I were a moron ---

My God! Perhaps I am!

~ Anonymous

Requiem

Under the wide and starry sky, 

Dig the grave and let me lie. 

Glad did I live and gladly die, 

And  I laid me down with a will. 

This be the verse you grave for me: 

Here he lies where he longed to be; 

Home is the sailor, home from sea, 

And the hunter home from the hill.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

On His Seventy-fifth Birthday

I strove with none; for none was worth my strife. 

Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; 

I warmed both hands before the fire of life, 

It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

~ Walter Savage Landor

I May, I Might, I Must

If you will tell me why the fen

appears impassable, I then

will tell you why I think that I

can get across it if I try.

~ Marianne Moore

Death, Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

~ John Donne

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer

When I heard the learn’d astronomer, 

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, 

When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, 

When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, 

How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, 

Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself, 

In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, 

Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

~ Walt Whitman

FROM Divina Commedia

Oft have I seen at some cathedral door 

A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat, 

Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet 

Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor 

Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er; 

Far off the noises of the world retreat; 

The loud vociferations of the street 

Become an undistinguishable roar. 

So, as I enter here from day to day, 

And leave my burden at this minster gate, 

Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, 

The tumult of the time disconsolate 

To inarticulate murmurs dies away, 

While the eternal ages watch and wait. 

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Rock of Ages

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee!

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flow'd,

Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labour of my hands

Can fulfill Thy law's demands;

Could my zeal no respite know,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring;

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace;

Foul, I to the fountain fly;

Wash me, Saviour, or I die!

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When mine eyes shall close in death,

When I soar to worlds unknown,

See Thee on Thy judgment-throne;

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee!

~ Augustus Montague Toplady

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore—

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over—

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

~ Langston Hughes

Up-Hill

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 

Yes, to the very end. 

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day? 

From morn to night, my friend. 

But is there for the night a resting-place? 

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. 

May not the darkness hide it from my face? 

You cannot miss that inn. 

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 

Those who have gone before. 

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 

They will not keep you standing at that door. 

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? 

Of labour you shall find the sum. 

Will there be beds for me and all who seek? 

Yea, beds for all who come.

~ Christina Georgina Rossetti

Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care 

A few paternal acres bound, 

Content to breathe his native air, 

In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 

Whose flocks supply him with attire, 

Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 

In winter fire. 

Blest, who can unconcernedly find 

Hours, days, and years slide soft away, 

In health of body, peace of mind, 

Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night; study and ease, 

Together mixed; sweet recreation; 

And innocence, which most does please, 

With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 

Thus unlamented let me die; 

Steal from the world, and not a stone 

Tell where I lie.

~ Alexander Pope

A Man Saw a Ball of Gold

A man saw a ball of gold in the sky; 

He climbed for it, 

And eventually he achieved it -- 

It was clay. 

Now this is the strange part: 

When the man went to the earth 

And looked again, 

Lo, there was the ball of gold. 

Now this is the strange part: 

It was a ball of gold. 

Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold. 

~ Stephen Crane

If

If you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, 

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too; 

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; 

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; 

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same; 

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, 

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, 

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

~ Rudyard Kipling

When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be

When I have fears that I may cease to be 

Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, 

Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, 

Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain; 

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, 

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, 

And think that I may never live to trace 

Their shadows with the magic hand of chance; 

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, 

That I shall never look upon thee more, 

Never have relish in the faery power 

Of unreflecting love—then on the shore 

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think 

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

~ John Keats

The Lamb

Little Lamb who made thee 

Dost thou know who made thee 

Gave thee life & bid thee feed. 

By the stream & o'er the mead; 

Gave thee clothing of delight, 

Softest clothing wooly bright; 

Gave thee such a tender voice, 

Making all the vales rejoice! 

Little Lamb who made thee 

Dost thou know who made thee 

Little Lamb I'll tell thee, 

Little Lamb I'll tell thee!

He is called by thy name, 

For he calls himself a Lamb: 

He is meek & he is mild, 

He became a little child: 

I a child & thou a lamb, 

We are called by his name. 

Little Lamb God bless thee. 

Little Lamb God bless thee.

~ WIlliam Blake

The Anvil --- God's Word

Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith's door,

And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime;

When looking in, I saw upon the floor,

Old hammers worn with beating years of time.

"How many anvils have you had," said I,

"To wear and batter these hammers so?"

"Just one," said he; then with a twinkling eye,

"The anvil wears the hammers out, you know."

And so, I thought, the anvil of God's Word,

For ages, skeptics blows have beat upon;

Yet, though the noise of falling blows was heard,

The anvil is unharmed - the hammers gone.

~ Anonymous

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

~ Robert Frost

After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – 

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – 

The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ 

And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? 

The Feet, mechanical, go round – 

A Wooden way 

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – 

Regardless grown, 

A Quartz contentment, like a stone – 

This is the Hour of Lead – 

Remembered, if outlived, 

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – 

First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

~ Emily Dickinson

Redemption

Having been tenant long to a rich lord, 

Not thriving, I resolvèd to be bold, 

And make a suit unto him, to afford 

A new small-rented lease, and cancel th’ old. 

In heaven at his manor I him sought; 

They told me there that he was lately gone 

About some land, which he had dearly bought 

Long since on earth, to take possessiòn. 

I straight returned, and knowing his great birth, 

Sought him accordingly in great resorts; 

In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts; 

At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth 

Of thieves and murderers; there I him espied, 

Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

~ George Herbert