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Value Of Literature
Value of literature is above precious ruby,
It voice higher than the dictation of God,
So timeless, with in-depth human undergo,
Worthy of deep cerebral feelings to deal
HARK! Young Democracy from sleep
Our careless sentries raps:
A backwash from the Futureâ??s deep
Our Evilâ??s foreland laps.
A dozen years since in this house what commotion,
What bustle, what stir, and what joyful ado;
Every soul in the family at my devotion,
When into the world I came twelve years ago.
What, then, is taste but those internal powers,
Active and strong, and feeling alive
To each fine impulse? a discerning sense
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust
Who Needs School?
In the future, fifteen years from now,
This won't matter,
My name carved into that desk will just be a carving,
And the pot-bellied children will still be starving.
IN yonder red-brick mansion, tight and square,
Just at the town's commencement, lives the mayor.
Some yards of shining gravel, fenced with box,
Lead to the painted portal--where one knocks :
The Wickedness Of Men
The beauty of the flag is been soiled with hates , and greed,
The bravery of our past heroes are been taking in vain,
Our rich and great culture is been silenced by greedy Men,
Our lands are fertile but our grains are been planted on rocks ,
The Gods Of Greece
Ye in the age gone by,
Who ruled the world--a world how lovely then!--
And guided still the steps of happy men
In the light leading-strings of careless joy!
A-sitttin' on a cracker box an' spittin' in the stove,
I took a sudden notion that I'd kindo' like to rove;
An' so I bought a ticket, jest as easy as could be,
From Pumpkinville in Idaho to Rome in Italy;
Telleth of a young man that fain would be fairly tattooed on his
flesh, after the heathen manner, in devices of blue, and that,
falling among the Dyacks, a folk of Borneo, was by them tattooed
in modern fashion and device, and of his misery that fell upon
The Secret Police
They are listening in the wires,
in the walls, under the eaves
in the wings of house martins,
in the ears of old women,
This rose-tree is not made to bear
The violet blue, nor lily fair,
Nor the sweet mignonette:
And if this tree were discontent,
Dim in the mist of ages, seeking a resting-place,
Broke on the shores of Britain the wave of an Aryan race.
Clear throâ?? the mist of ages, ere ever the White Christ came,
Songs of the Cymric singers have chanted the Brython fame.
George Essex Evans
We were a people taut for war; the hills
Were no harder, the thin grass
Clothed them more warmly than the coarse
Shirts our small bones.
Ronald Stuart Thomas
Vision Of Columbus - Book 2
High o'er the changing scene, as thus he gazed,
The indulgent Power his arm sublimely raised;
When round the realms superior lustre flew,
And call'd new wonders to the hero's view.
Anna was young and lovely--in her eye
The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye:
At The "atlantic" Dinner
I suppose it's myself that you're making allusion to
And bringing the sense of dismay and confusion to.
Of course some must speak, - they are always selected to,
But pray what's the reason that I am expected to?
Oliver Wendell Holmes
Embalm'd in fame, and sacred from decay,
What mighty name, in arms, in arts, or verse,
From England claims this consecrated day.
Her nobles crowding round the shadowy hearse?
The World In The House
PILGRIMS who journey in the narrow way,
Should go as little cumbered as they may.
'Tis heavy sailing with a freighted ship ;
'Tis pleasant travelling with a staff and scrip.
To-day the woods are trembling through and through
With shimmering forms, that flash before my view,
Then melt in green as dawn-stars melt in blue.
The leaves that wave against my cheek caress
With belly like a poisoned pup
Said I: 'I must give bacon up:
And also, I profanely fear,
I must abandon bread and beer
Robert William Service
I love the woods when the magic hand
Of Spring, as if sweeping the keys
Of a wornout instrument, touches the earth;
When beauty and song in the gladness of birth
"As certain also of your own poets have said"--
Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea
Can rules or tutors educate
The semigod whom we await?
He must be musical,
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Libertatis Sacra Fames
Albeit nurtured in democracy,
And liking best that state republican
Where every man is Kinglike and no man
Is crowned above his fellows, yet I see,
After I had attended lectures
At our Chautauqua, and studied French
For twenty years, committing the grammar
Almost by heart,
Edgar Lee Masters
Sounds of rural life and labour!
Not the notes of pipe and tabour,
Not the clash of helm and sabre
Bright'ning up the field of glory,
The Hermitage Of Agastya
Righteous Rama, soft-eyed Sita, and the gallant Lakshman stood
In the wilderness of Dandaki-trackless, pathless, boundless wood,
But within its gloomy gorges, dark and deep and known to few,
The Princess (prologue)
Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day
Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun
Up to the people: thither flocked at noon
His tenants, wife and child, and thither half
Alfred Lord Tennyson
A Fragment of a Turkish Tale
The tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because the ladies are more circumspect than in the 'olden time', or because the Christians have better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire, contained the adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in the Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by a young Venetian, her lover, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed by the Republic of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts were beaten back from the Morea, which they had ravaged for some time subsequent to the Russian invasion. The desertion of the Mainotes on being refused the plunder of Misitra, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, and to the desolation of the Morea,during which the cruelty exercised on all sides was unparalleled even in the annals of the faithful.
George Gordon Byron