Some say the world will end in fire

I reserved my right earlier on to use Robert Frost again, and so, I will close out the month of April with him.

Fire and Ice

by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favour fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

A smidge of Shakespeare (for 4/29)

A little Shakespeare mayhaps?

Sonnet 104
by William Shakespeare

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,

For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
......For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; thou age unbred: all of you who haven't been born yet
.....Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

Life's Scars

I love poems that are as true today as they were when they were writte 100 years ago. Here an example.

Life's Scars

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

They say the world is round, and yet

I often think it square,

So many little hurts we get

From corners here and there.

But one great truth in life I've found,

While journeying to the West-

The only folks who really wound

Are those we love the best.

The man you thoroughly despise

Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true;

Annoyance in your heart will rise

At things mere strangers do;

But those are only passing ills;

This rule all lives will prove;

The rankling wound which aches and thrills

Is dealt by hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown;

The careless mien, the frowning face,

Are given to our own.

We flatter those we scarcely know,

We please the fleeting guest,

And deal full many a thoughtless blow

To those who love us best.

Love does not grow on every tree,

Nor true hearts yearly bloom.

Alas for those who only see

This cut across a tomb!

But, soon or late, the fact grows plain

To all through sorrow's test:

The only folks who give us pain

Are those we love the best.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

So I'm a history major, and have spent the past 4 days engulfed in history preparing for my midterm this evening. Thus I think it's only right to post up a historical poem, even though it's not even a US history poem, it's about the Crimean War but whatevs. It's still nice and noble.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd:

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.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made,

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred.

Fog

Looking out my window, I'd have to say the fog's come in on a jungle cat's feet.

Fog
by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Children learn what they live

I truly believe in this idea. (See: Daughters by John Mayer -- comes to mind since I'm listening to him right now.)

Children Learn What they Live

by Dorothy Law Nolte

If children live with hostility,

they learn to fight.

If children live with ridicule,

they learn to be shy.

If children live with tolerance,

they learn to be patient.

If children live with encouragement,

they learn confidence.

If children live with praise,

they learn to appreciate.

If children live with fairness,

they learn justice.

If children live with security,

they learn faith.

If children live with approval,

they learn to like themselves.

If children live with acceptance, and friendship,

they learn to find love in the world.

For 4/24 The Walrus and the Carpenter

This is an excerpt from the poem The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Caroll in his novel Alice in Wonderland. Although I read the book and have watched the movies, I will forever associate this poem with the movie Harriet the Spy. Before Harriet (Michelle Trachtenberg I believe) goes to bed her mentor/caretaker/friend (Rosie O'Donnell) recites this poem with her if memory serves.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.