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We were once victims altogether
Once slaves in our homeland
The struggle, we fought together
Fought against the unjust systems
Love oh love,
You are sweeter than honey.
You make things easy without money;
Everything smiles at where there is love
I remember the story of that great person
who fought for our freedom and was great,
who was against the partition
but not against the Muslim .
Woman Of The World
Motionless woman,steadfast woman
Sitting on a throne of gold
In your eyes are dreams of the world
In your ways have you brought up mankind
Love - The Symbolic Soul
Love is a journey, only few dispatch it,
Not all can, the dream in life who loves,
Although millions of promises created.
It's fragile like a narrow glass, easily smart,
Though we think alike
but our actions are nothing alike
Today, we march in unity
then the next day we are in disparity
One Sabbath day my friend and I
After the meeting, quietly
Passed from the crowded village lanes,
White with dry dust for lack of rains,
John Greenleaf Whittier
Space is ample, east and west,
But two cannot go abreast,
Cannot travel in it two:
Yonder masterful cuckoo
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Heart of my heart, the world is young;
Love lies hidden in every rose!
Don Juan: Canto The Ninth
Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton'--for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase-
George Gordon Byron
To Johan Sverdrup
When now my song selects and praises
Your forceful name, think not it raises
The rallying-flag for battle near;
The street-fight shall not reach us here.
The old word is dead.
The old books are dead.
Our speech with holes like worn-out shoes is dead.
First-born of the creating Voice!
Minister of God's Spirit, who wast sent
Waiting upon him first, what time he went
Moving about mid the tumultuous noise
Made by Sir Philip Sidney, upon his meeting with his two
worthy friends and fellow poets, Sir Edward Dyer and M.
Sir Philip Sidney
Elegy Xviii: Love's Progress
Who ever loves, if he do not propose
The right true end of love, he's one that goes
To sea for nothing but to make him sick.
Love is a bear-whelp born: if we o'erlick
Dawn off the Foreland -- the young flood making
Jumbled and short and steep --
Black in the hollows and bright where it's breaking --
Awkward water to sweep.
To Mrs. J.s. Blackie
Dear Friend, once, in a dream, I, looking o'er
The Past, saw the Four Seasons slow advance
Dancing, and, dancing, each her cognizance
So gave and took that neither dancer bore
Sydney Thompson Dobell
To My Friend Mr Motteux, On His Tragedy Called "beauty In Distress."
'Tis hard, my friend, to write in such an age,
As damns, not only poets, but the stage.
That sacred art, by Heaven itself infused,
Which Moses, David, Solomon have used,
How can I tell thee when I love thee best?
In rapture or repose? how shall I say?
I only know I love thee every way,
Plumed for love's flight, or folded in love's nest.
â??...here thy generations endeth in accord.â?
I physically resemble my mother
And father and therefore must have been
Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 47
A padshah was casting a glanced of contempt upon a company of dervishes and one of them, understanding by his sagacity the meaning of it, said: â??O king, in this world we are inferior to thee in dignity but more happy in life. In death we are equal and in the resurrection superior to thee.â??
Though the master of a country may have enjoyment
And the dervish may be in need of bread
The Crown Of Empire
Free is the wind that lashes into foam
The fortress waves that gird the Sea-Kingâ??s home
And free the war-worn Flag that is our fame
That fear, nor treason, nor the Storm-Godâ??s might,
George Essex Evans
Here We Are!
Here we are, Britain! the finest and best of us
Taking our coats off and rolling our sleeves,
Answering the thoughtless that once made a jest of us,
Each man a soldier for what he believes.
Edgar Albert Guest
The Bundle Of Sticks
To his sons, who fell out, father spake:
"This Bundle of Sticks you can't break;
Take them singly, with ease,
You may break as you please,
The Priests Of Ireland
YOU have waited, Priests of Ireland, until the hour was late:
You have stood with folded arms until 'twas askedâ??Why do they wait?
By the fever and the famine you have seen your flocks grow thin,
Till the whisper hissed through Ireland that your silence was a sin.
John Boyle O'reilly
This admirable gadget, when it is
Wound on a string and spun with steady force,
Maintains its balance on most any smooth
Surface, pleasantly humming as it goes.
Queen Mab: Part Iv.
'How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude
That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
Percy Bysshe Shelley