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Be the man the nation needs,
Lead an example to the upcoming generation
Be the voice of the voiceless woman
instead of being the pain of the painless woman.
Spring is marked by blossom,
Buzzing bees pollinating colorful bloom,
To reproduce seeds ,
In nature generation of daffodils continue.
Among seven billions people in the planet
Why I have to be born and raised by you?
Why not be born to others,
Methinks in the past generation
The Iliad: Book 23
Thus did they make their moan throughout the city, while the
Achaeans when they reached the Hellespont went back every man to his
own ship. But Achilles would not let the Myrmidons go, and spoke to
his brave comrades saying, “Myrmidons, famed horsemen and my own
Heritage Site Jdnp
Mesmerizing landscape of snowy mountains
Is a landmark of park & country,
Significant of Jigme Dorji National Park,
Is the home where one can see all national diversity.
We are the children of light,
Wise, not companioned
In a condemned graveyard.
A Forest Hymn
The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them,-ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
William Cullen Bryant
The House That Was
Of the old house, only a few, crumbled
Courses of brick, smothered in nettle and dock,
Or a shaped stone lying mossy where it tumbled!
Sprawling bramble and saucy thistle mock
Robert Laurence Binyon
No spot of earth where men have so fiercely for ages of time
Fought and survived and cancelled each other,
Pict and Gael and Dane, McQuillan, Clandonnel, O'Neill,
Savages, the Scot, the Norman, the English,
I am a frontline conservator
Trained in forestry conservation
With less theoretical &
More in practical.
Ode On A Grecian Urn
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
Are we all golems now?
What happened to our emotions and our mindfulness?,
We used to love the exterior but now we have all created our own interiors,
Brainwashed we are,
No Lethean ease, but such a mood as craves
For naught in earth and heaven, just to breathe
The simple air of our reality
Like creatures of the season, â?? earthy, and
From Joshua Ibn Vives of Allorqui to his Former Master, Solomon
Levi-Paul, de Santa-Maria, Bishop of Cartegna Chancellor of
Castile, and Privy Councillor to King Henry III. of Spain.
What sovereign good shall satiate man's desires,
Propell'd by Hope's unconquerable fires?
Vain each bright bauble by ambition prized;
Unwon, 'tis worshipp'd-but possess'd, despised.
In thin clear light unshadowed shapes go by
Small on green fields beneath the hueless sky.
They do not stay for question, do not hear
Any old human speech: their tongue and ear
It fell in the ancient periods
Which the brooding soul surveys,
Or ever the wild Time coin'd itself
Into calendar months and days.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
How smiles he at a generation ranked
In gloomy noddings over life! They pass.
Not he to feed upon a breast unthanked,
Or eye a beauteous face in a cracked glass.
WHo is the same, which at my window peepes?
Or whose is that faire face, that shines so bright,
Is it not Cinthia, she that neuer sleepes,
But walkes about high heauen al the night?
Mrs. George Reece
To this generation I would say:
Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty.
It may serve a turn in your life.
My husband had nothing to do
Edgar Lee Masters
A Cry For Poland
HOW long shall injustice prevail?
How long shall the weak rue the strong?
The children of Poland bewail
The yoke of the Russian?â??How long?
The Iliad: Book 13
Now when Jove had thus brought Hector and the Trojans to the
ships, he left them to their never-ending toil, and turned his keen
eyes away, looking elsewhither towards the horse-breeders of Thrace,
the Mysians, fighters at close quarters, the noble Hippemolgi, who
Mind Of Immortal
Nothing on this earth is immortal
There are no beings or structures
Born and built a long time ago
I still wish and hope to be immortal.
This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak
of them. Nor is it about deeds or lands, nor anything about glory, honour,
dominion or power,
Bringing In The Wine
See how the Yellow River's water move out of heaven.
Entering the ocean,never to return.
See how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers,
Though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow.
The forest is a national property,
Is freely exposed in open area for all,
If we use lavishly without concern,
Younger generation may not have access to this wealth.
The lamp that stands beside the crib
Is not yet lighted to warm the gloom
Of the blueish, opaque light falling
Through the curtains of late afternoon.
Jose Asuncion Silva
Some called it the Summer of Love, & although the clustered,
Motionless leaves that overhung the streets looked the same
As ever, the same as they did every summer, in 1967,
Anybody with three dollars could have a vision.
Hear me, O beeches! You
That have with ageless anguish slowly risen
From earth's still secret prison
Into the ampler prison of aery blue.
With the ghostly shapes of dead heroes
Moon, you ï¬ll
The growing silence of the forest,
There isn't any pay for you, you serve without reward,
The boys who tramp the fields with you but little could afford.
And yet your pay is richer far than those who toil for gold,
For in a dozen different ways your service shall be told.
Edgar Albert Guest
From Generation To Generation
O Son of mine, when dusk shall find thee bending
Between a gravestone and a cradle's head--
Between the love whose name is loss unending
And the young love whose thoughts are liker dread,--