Tree
Under the green wood tree
Who loves to lie with me?
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live I’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
- William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) is a great playwright and poet, he has written a number of plays and poems. He has also written 154 sonnets. Here in this poem, he invites us to be friendly with nature where there is always joy and harmony and no enmity. This is taken from “as you like it”.
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The Bridge Builder
An old man, going a long highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep ,and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,
“you are wasting strength with building here;
your journey will end with the ending day;
you never again must pass this way;
you have crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“there followeth after me today
A youth, whose feed must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
-will Allen Dromgoole
will allen dromgoole(1860-1934), was born in Tennessee. She had published thirteen books,7500 poems and 5,000 columns of essays, making her one of the most prolific of Tennessee writers.)
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I CANNOT REMEMBER MY MOTHER
I cannot remember my mother
Only sometimes in the midst of my play
A tune seems to hover over my playthings,
The tune of some song that she used to
Hum while rocking my cradle.
I cannot remember my mother
But when in the early autumn morning
The smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air
The sent of the morning service in the temple
Comes to me as the scent of my mother.
I cannot remember my mother
Only when from my bedroom window I send
My eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the gaze on my face
Has spread all over the sky
-Rbindranath Tagore.
Rabindarnath Tagore ,popularly known as gurudev(1861-1941) was a Bengali poet, dramatist and novelist. Tagore won the nobel prize for literature for his work, gitanjali. He founded the ‘shanthiniketan’ to promote Indian culture. This poem ‘ I ‘I can’t remember my mother ‘ is about a child who does not remember his dead mother .but the child perhaps carries some associations of the mother’s image in his mind.
Under the green wood tree
Who loves to lie with me?
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live I’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
- William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) is a great playwright and poet, he has written a number of plays and poems. He has also written 154 sonnets. Here in this poem, he invites us to be friendly with nature where there is always joy and harmony and no enmity. This is taken from “as you like it”.
***********************************************************************************
The Bridge Builder
An old man, going a long highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep ,and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,
“you are wasting strength with building here;
your journey will end with the ending day;
you never again must pass this way;
you have crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“there followeth after me today
A youth, whose feed must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
-will Allen Dromgoole
will allen dromgoole(1860-1934), was born in Tennessee. She had published thirteen books,7500 poems and 5,000 columns of essays, making her one of the most prolific of Tennessee writers.)
***********************************************************************************
I CANNOT REMEMBER MY MOTHER
I cannot remember my mother
Only sometimes in the midst of my play
A tune seems to hover over my playthings,
The tune of some song that she used to
Hum while rocking my cradle.
I cannot remember my mother
But when in the early autumn morning
The smell of the shiuli flowers floats in the air
The sent of the morning service in the temple
Comes to me as the scent of my mother.
I cannot remember my mother
Only when from my bedroom window I send
My eyes into the blue of the distant sky,
I feel that the gaze on my face
Has spread all over the sky
-Rbindranath Tagore.
Rabindarnath Tagore ,popularly known as gurudev(1861-1941) was a Bengali poet, dramatist and novelist. Tagore won the nobel prize for literature for his work, gitanjali. He founded the ‘shanthiniketan’ to promote Indian culture. This poem ‘ I ‘I can’t remember my mother ‘ is about a child who does not remember his dead mother .but the child perhaps carries some associations of the mother’s image in his mind.
***********************************************************************************
THE MOON
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
She shines on thieves on the garden wall,
On street and fields and harbour quays,
And birdies asleep in the forks of the tree.
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,
The howling dog by the door of the house,
The bat that lies in bed at noon,
All love to be out by the light of moon.
But all of the things that belongs to the day
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
And flowers and children close their eyes
Till up in the morning the sun shall rise.
- Robert Louies Stevenson
Robert Louies Stevenson was born on the 13th of November 1850 at Edinburgh. He had shown a desire to write early in life. he is best known for his adventure stories. Two of his works are ‘Treasure Island ‘and Kidnapped’. He has also written a few collections of verses.
***********************************************************************************
A DOG IS A DOG
Now dogs pretend they like to fight;
They often bark, more seldom bite;
But yet a dog is, on the whole,
What you would call a simple soul.
Of course I’m not including pekes,
And such fantastic canine freaks.
The usual dog about the town
Is much inclined to play the clown
And far from showing too much pride
Is frequently undignified.
He’s very easily taken in-
Just chuck him underneath the chin
Or slap his back or shake his paw,
And he will gambol and guffaw.
He’s such an easy-going lout,
He’ll answer any or shout.
Again I must remind you that
A Dog’s a Dog-A CAT’S ACAT.
-T S ELIOT
Thomas Stearns Eliot (1988-1965), a leading poet and dramatist wrote many plays and poems. His masterpiece is ‘the wasteland’.
THE MOON
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
She shines on thieves on the garden wall,
On street and fields and harbour quays,
And birdies asleep in the forks of the tree.
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,
The howling dog by the door of the house,
The bat that lies in bed at noon,
All love to be out by the light of moon.
But all of the things that belongs to the day
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
And flowers and children close their eyes
Till up in the morning the sun shall rise.
- Robert Louies Stevenson
Robert Louies Stevenson was born on the 13th of November 1850 at Edinburgh. He had shown a desire to write early in life. he is best known for his adventure stories. Two of his works are ‘Treasure Island ‘and Kidnapped’. He has also written a few collections of verses.
***********************************************************************************
A DOG IS A DOG
Now dogs pretend they like to fight;
They often bark, more seldom bite;
But yet a dog is, on the whole,
What you would call a simple soul.
Of course I’m not including pekes,
And such fantastic canine freaks.
The usual dog about the town
Is much inclined to play the clown
And far from showing too much pride
Is frequently undignified.
He’s very easily taken in-
Just chuck him underneath the chin
Or slap his back or shake his paw,
And he will gambol and guffaw.
He’s such an easy-going lout,
He’ll answer any or shout.
Again I must remind you that
A Dog’s a Dog-A CAT’S ACAT.
-T S ELIOT
Thomas Stearns Eliot (1988-1965), a leading poet and dramatist wrote many plays and poems. His masterpiece is ‘the wasteland’.
***********************************************************************************
GIVE ME THE STRENGTH
This is my prayer to thee , my lord-
Strike , strike at the root of penury in my heart.
Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.
Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might.
Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.
And Give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.
-Rabindranath Tagore.
Rabindarnath Tagore ,popularly known as gurudev(1861-1941) was a Bengali poet, dramatist and novelist. Tagore won the nobel prize for literature for his work, gitanjali. He founded the ‘shanthiniketan’ to promote Indian culture. This poem ‘ I ‘I can’t remember my mother ‘ is about a child who does not remember his dead mother .but the child perhaps carries some associations of the mother’s image in his mind.
GIVE ME THE STRENGTH
This is my prayer to thee , my lord-
Strike , strike at the root of penury in my heart.
Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.
Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might.
Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.
And Give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.
-Rabindranath Tagore.
Rabindarnath Tagore ,popularly known as gurudev(1861-1941) was a Bengali poet, dramatist and novelist. Tagore won the nobel prize for literature for his work, gitanjali. He founded the ‘shanthiniketan’ to promote Indian culture. This poem ‘ I ‘I can’t remember my mother ‘ is about a child who does not remember his dead mother .but the child perhaps carries some associations of the mother’s image in his mind.
***********************************************************************************
THE BLIND BOY
Say what is that thing call’d light,
Which I must ne’er enjoy;
What are the blessing of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm , but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make.
Whene’er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me twere always day
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne’er can now.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing , I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.
-Colley Cibber
Colley Cibber(1971-1757),English actor, dramatist and poet laureate distinguished himself by an aptitude for writing verse even as a boy . he has written a number of plays, mostly sentimental comedies.
THE BLIND BOY
Say what is that thing call’d light,
Which I must ne’er enjoy;
What are the blessing of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm , but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make.
Whene’er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me twere always day
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne’er can now.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing , I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.
-Colley Cibber
Colley Cibber(1971-1757),English actor, dramatist and poet laureate distinguished himself by an aptitude for writing verse even as a boy . he has written a number of plays, mostly sentimental comedies.
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