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  • Fred O'Malley
    I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
    • Apr 2013
    • 172994

    Poetry by Robert Frost & Friends

    Robert Frost
    (3/26/1874 - 1/29/1963)

    Robert Lee Frost was born in San Francisco, and after his fathers death in 1885, he moved with his family to Lawrence, Massachusetts, where he became interested in reading and writing poetry while in high school. Frost attended Dartmouth College and Harvard University, but never received a degree. He was a jack of all trades, and had many different occupations after leaving school, including a teacher, a cobbler, and an editor of the local newspaper, the "Lawrence Sentinel". His first published poem was "My Butterfly: An Elegy" in the New York literary journal "The Independent" in 1894. A year later he married Elinor Miriam White, with whom he shared valedictorian honours with at his Massachusetts High School.

    In the following years, he operated a farm in Derry, New Hampshire, and taught at Derry's Pinkerton Academy. In 1912, he sold his farm and moved his family to England, where he could devote himself entirely to his writing. His efforts to establish himself in England were immediately successful, and in 1913 he published "A Boy's Will", followed a year later by "North of Boston". It was in England where he met and was influenced by such poets at Rupert Brooke and Robert Graves, and where he established his life-long friendship with Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.

    Frost returned to the United states in 1915, and by the 1920's, he was the most celebrated poet in North America, and was granted four Pulitzer Prizes. Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died on January 29, 1963 in Boston.

    Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
    Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
    “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight
  • Fred O'Malley
    I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
    • Apr 2013
    • 172994

    #2
    Famous Poets and Poems 631 poets.
    Read and Enjoy Poetry!


    http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/
    Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
    Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
    “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

    Comment

    • Smoky
      • Jun 2013
      • 1849

      #3
      For a year and a half, I helped an old rich man build, or repair, over a mile of rock walls at the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. The following poem by Robert Frost, he would often recite, at the end of the day, as we put away our tools under the summer's moonlight......

      MENDING WALL
      Robert Frost

      Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
      That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
      And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
      And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
      The work of hunters is another thing:
      I have come after them and made repair
      Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
      But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
      To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
      No one has seen them made or heard them made,
      But at spring mending-time we find them there.
      I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
      And on a day we meet to walk the line
      And set the wall between us once again.
      We keep the wall between us as we go.
      To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
      And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
      We have to use a spell to make them balance:
      'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'
      We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
      Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
      One on a side. It comes to little more:
      There where it is we do not need the wall:
      He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
      My apple trees will never get across
      And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
      He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
      Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
      If I could put a notion in his head:
      'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
      Where there are cows?
      But here there are no cows.
      Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
      What I was walling in or walling out,
      And to whom I was like to give offence.
      Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
      That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,
      But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
      He said it for himself. I see him there
      Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
      In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
      He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
      Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
      He will not go behind his father's saying,
      And he likes having thought of it so well
      He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

      Comment

      • Fred O'Malley
        I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
        • Apr 2013
        • 172994

        #4
        The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
        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 took the one less traveled by,
        And that has made all the difference.
        Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
        Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
        “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

        Comment

        • Fred O'Malley
          I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
          • Apr 2013
          • 172994

          #5
          The Raven
          by Edgar Allan Poe

          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 mortals 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 blest 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 further 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
          But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
          She shall press, ah, nevermore!

          Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
          Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 in 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 lamplight 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!
          Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
          Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
          “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

          Comment

          • Smoky
            • Jun 2013
            • 1849

            #6
            Originally posted by Fred O'Malley View Post
            Two roads diverged in a wood, and
            I took the one less traveled by,
            And that has made all the difference.
            Just watch out for snakes. Every time that I hiked the bottom river trail in the Smoky Mountains, a trail less traveled, back to the Abrams' Creek trail head, I run into snakes.

            One evening, at dusk, I was not sure who was more terrified, me grabbing onto to tree, for balance to step down on a trail, to discover that I also grabbed hold of a four foot rattle snake; or the snake, half of it's body in the hollow of the tree looking for its meal, thinking that he just became my dinner.
            Last edited by Randolph Dilloway; 16 Jun 2013, 07:19.

            Comment

            • Fred O'Malley
              I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
              • Apr 2013
              • 172994

              #7
              Annabel Lee
              by Edgar Allan Poe


              It was many and many a year ago,
              In a kingdom by the sea,
              That a maiden there lived whom you may know
              By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
              And this maiden she lived with no other thought
              Than to love and be loved by me.
              She was a child and I was a child,
              In this kingdom by the sea,
              But we loved with a love that was more than love--
              I and my Annabel Lee--
              With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
              Coveted her and me.

              And this was the reason that, long ago,
              In this kingdom by the sea,
              A wind blew out of a cloud by night
              Chilling my Annabel Lee;
              So that her high-born kinsman came
              And bore her away from me,
              To shut her up in a sepulchre
              In this kingdom by the sea.

              The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
              Went envying her and me:--
              Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
              In this kingdom by the sea)
              That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
              And killing my Annabel Lee.

              But our love it was stronger by far than the love
              Of those who were older than we--
              Of many far wiser than we-
              And neither the angels in Heaven above,
              Nor the demons down under the sea,
              Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
              Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

              For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
              Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
              And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
              Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
              And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
              Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
              In her sepulchre there by the sea--
              In her tomb by the side of the sea.
              Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
              Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
              “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

              Comment

              • Fred O'Malley
                I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                • Apr 2013
                • 172994

                #8
                The Man He Killed
                by Thomas Hardy


                Had he and I but met
                By some old ancient inn,
                We should have set us down to wet
                Right many a nipperkin!

                But ranged as infantry,
                And staring face to face,
                I shot at him as he at me,
                And killed him in his place.

                I shot him dead because--
                Because he was my foe,
                Just so: my foe of course he was;
                That's clear enough; although

                He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
                Off-hand like--just as I--
                Was out of work--had sold his traps--
                No other reason why.

                Yes; quaint and curious war is!
                You shoot a fellow down
                You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
                Or help to half a crown.
                Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                Comment

                • Fred O'Malley
                  I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                  • Apr 2013
                  • 172994

                  #9
                  Epitaph On A Pessimist
                  by Thomas Hardy

                  I'm Smith of Stoke aged sixty odd
                  I've lived without a dame all my life
                  And wish to God
                  My dad had done the same.
                  Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                  Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                  “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                  Comment

                  • Fred O'Malley
                    I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                    • Apr 2013
                    • 172994

                    #10
                    Because I could not stop for Death
                    by Emily Dickinson


                    Because I could not stop for Death
                    He kindly stopped for me
                    The Carriage held but just Ourselves
                    And Immortality.

                    We slowly drove, he knew no haste
                    And I had put away
                    My labor and my leisure too,
                    For his civility.

                    We passed the School, where Children strove
                    At recess in the ring
                    We passed the fields of gazing grain
                    We passed the setting sun.

                    Or rather, he passed us
                    The dews drew quivering and chill
                    For only Gossamer, my gown
                    My tippet only tulle.

                    We paused before a house that seemed
                    A swelling of the GROUND
                    The roof was scarcely visible
                    The cornice in the ground.

                    Since then 'tis centuries and yet
                    Feels shorter than the DAY
                    I first surmised the horses' heads
                    Were toward eternity.
                    Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                    Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                    “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                    Comment

                    • Fred O'Malley
                      I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                      • Apr 2013
                      • 172994

                      #11
                      September 1913
                      by William Butler Yeats


                      What need you, being come to sense,
                      But fumble in a greasy till
                      And add the halfpence to the pence
                      And prayer to shivering prayer, until
                      You have dried the marrow from the bone?
                      For men were born to pray and save:
                      Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
                      It's with O'Leary in the grave.

                      Yet they were of a different kind,
                      The names that stilled your childish play,
                      They have gone about the world like wind,
                      But little time had they to pray
                      For whom the hangman's rope was spun,
                      And what, God help us, could they save?
                      Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
                      It's with O'Leary in the grave.

                      Was it for this the wild geese spread
                      The grey wing upon every tide;
                      For this that all that blood was shed,
                      For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
                      And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
                      All that delirium of the brave?
                      Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
                      It's with O'Leary in the grave.

                      Yet could we turn the years again,
                      And call those exiles as they were
                      In all their loneliness and pain,
                      You'd cry, 'Some woman's yellow hair
                      Has maddened every mother's son':
                      They weighed so lightly what they gave.
                      But let them be, they're dead and gone,
                      They're with O'Leary in the grave.
                      Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                      Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                      “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                      Comment

                      • Fred O'Malley
                        I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                        • Apr 2013
                        • 172994

                        #12
                        Let America Be America Again
                        by Langston Hughes


                        Let America be America again.
                        Let it be the dream it used to be.
                        Let it be the pioneer on the plain
                        Seeking a home where he himself is free.


                        Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
                        Let it be that great strong land of love
                        Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
                        That any man be crushed by one above.


                        O, let my land be a land where Liberty
                        Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
                        But opportunity is real, and life is free,
                        Equality is in the air we breathe.


                        Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
                        And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

                        I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
                        I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
                        I am the red man driven from the land,
                        I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
                        And finding only the same old stupid plan
                        Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

                        I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
                        Tangled in that ancient endless chain
                        Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
                        Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
                        Of work the men! Of take the pay!
                        Of owning everything for one's own greed!

                        I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
                        I am the worker sold to the machine.
                        I am the Negro, servant to you all.
                        I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
                        Hungry yet today despite the dream.
                        Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
                        I am the man who never got ahead,
                        The poorest worker bartered through the years.

                        Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
                        In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
                        Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
                        That even yet its mighty daring sings
                        In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
                        That's made America the land it has become.
                        O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
                        In search of what I meant to be my home--
                        For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
                        And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
                        And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
                        To build a "homeland of the free."

                        The free?

                        Who said the free? Not me?
                        Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
                        The millions shot down when we strike?
                        The millions who have nothing for our pay?
                        For all the dreams we've dreamed
                        And all the songs we've sung
                        And all the hopes we've held
                        And all the flags we've hung,
                        The millions who have nothing for our pay--
                        Except the dream that's almost dead today.

                        O, let America be America again--
                        The land that never has been yet--
                        And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
                        The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
                        Who made America,
                        Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
                        Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
                        Must bring back our mighty dream again.

                        Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
                        The steel of freedom does not stain.
                        From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
                        We must take back our land again,
                        America!

                        O, yes,
                        I say it plain,
                        America never was America to me,
                        And yet I swear this oath--
                        America will be!

                        Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
                        The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
                        We, the people, must redeem
                        The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
                        The mountains and the endless plain--
                        All, all the stretch of these great green states--
                        And make America again!
                        Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                        Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                        “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                        Comment

                        • Fred O'Malley
                          I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                          • Apr 2013
                          • 172994

                          #13
                          Sonnet 43 - How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
                          by Elizabeth Barrett Browning


                          How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
                          I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
                          My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
                          For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

                          I love thee to the level of everyday's
                          Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
                          I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
                          I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

                          I love thee with the passion put to use
                          In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
                          I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
                          With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
                          Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
                          I shall but love thee better after death.
                          Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                          Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                          “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                          Comment

                          • Fred O'Malley
                            I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                            • Apr 2013
                            • 172994

                            #14
                            The Charge of the Light Brigade
                            by Alfred, Lord Tennyson


                            I
                            Half a league, half a league,
                            Half a league onward,
                            All in the valley of Death
                            Rode the six hundred.
                            "Forward, the Light Brigade!
                            Charge for the guns!" he said.
                            Into the valley of Death
                            Rode the six hundred.

                            II
                            "Forward, the Light Brigade!"
                            Was there a man dismayed?
                            Not though the soldier knew
                            Someone had blundered.
                            Theirs not to make reply,
                            Theirs not to reason why,
                            Theirs but to do and die.
                            Into the valley of Death
                            Rode the six hundred.

                            III
                            Cannon to right of them,
                            Cannon to left of them,
                            Cannon in front of them
                            Volleyed and thundered;
                            Stormed at with shot and shell,
                            Boldly they rode and well,
                            Into the jaws of Death,
                            Into the mouth of hell
                            Rode the six hundred.

                            IV
                            Flashed all their sabres bare,
                            Flashed as they turned in air
                            Sab'ring the gunners there,
                            Charging an army, while
                            All the world wondered.
                            Plunged in the battery-smoke
                            Right thro' the line they broke;
                            Cossack and Russian
                            Reeled from the sabre stroke
                            Shattered and sundered.
                            Then they rode back, but not
                            Not the six hundred.

                            V
                            Cannon to right of them,
                            Cannon to left of them,
                            Cannon behind them
                            Volleyed and thundered;
                            Stormed at with shot and shell,
                            While horse and hero fell.
                            They that had fought so well
                            Came through the jaws of Death,
                            Back from the mouth of hell,
                            All that was left of them,
                            Left of six hundred.

                            VI
                            When can their glory fade?
                            O the wild charge they made!
                            All the world wondered.
                            Honour the charge they made!
                            Honour the Light Brigade,
                            Noble six hundred!
                            Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                            Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                            “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                            Comment

                            • Fred O'Malley
                              I AM THE PALE HORSEMAN
                              • Apr 2013
                              • 172994

                              #15
                              The White Man's Burden,
                              Rudyard Kipling, 1899


                              Take up the White Man's burden--
                              Send forth the best ye breed--
                              Go bind your sons to exile
                              To serve your captives' need;
                              To wait in heavy harness,
                              On fluttered folk and wild--
                              Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
                              Half-devil and half-child.

                              Take up the White Man's burden--
                              In patience to abide,
                              To veil the threat of terror
                              And check the show of pride;
                              By open speech and simple,
                              An hundred times made plain
                              To seek another's profit,
                              And work another's gain.

                              Take up the White Man's burden--
                              The savage wars of peace--
                              Fill full the mouth of Famine
                              And bid the sickness cease;
                              And when your goal is nearest
                              The end for others sought,
                              Watch sloth and heathen Folly
                              Bring all your hopes to nought.

                              Take up the White Man's burden--
                              No tawdry rule of kings,
                              But toil of serf and sweeper--
                              The tale of common things.
                              The ports ye shall not enter,
                              The roads ye shall not tread,
                              Go mark them with your living,
                              And mark them with your dead.

                              Take up the White Man's burden--
                              And reap his old reward:
                              The blame of those ye better,
                              The hate of those ye guard--
                              The cry of hosts ye humour
                              (Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--
                              "Why brought he us from bondage,
                              Our loved Egyptian night?"

                              Take up the White Man's burden--
                              Ye dare not stoop to less--
                              Nor call too loud on Freedom
                              To cloke your weariness;
                              By all ye cry or whisper,
                              By all ye leave or do,
                              The silent, sullen peoples
                              Shall weigh your gods and you.

                              Take up the White Man's burden--
                              Have done with childish days--
                              The lightly proferred laurel,
                              The easy, ungrudged praise.
                              Comes now, to search your manhood
                              Through all the thankless years
                              Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
                              The judgment of your peers!
                              Government is a DISEASE - FREEDOM is the CURE
                              Integrity is doing the right thing when no one else is watching.
                              “Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth — more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid … Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.”Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight

                              Comment

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