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ABOU BEN ADHEM
 bou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold: -
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
'What writest thou?'-The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, 'The names of those that love the Lord.'
'And is mine one?' said Abou. 'Nay, not so,'
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, 'I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men.'
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
--JHL Hunt 1784�p;1859
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 wo 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 I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, 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--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
--Robert Frost
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THE NEW COLOSSUS
 ot like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightening, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
--Emma Lazarus, 1883
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NO MAN IS AN ISLAND
o man is an island,
No man stands alone.
Each man's joy is joy to me,
Each man's grief is my own.
We need one another
So I will defend.
Each man as my brother,
Each man as my friend.
I saw the people gather.
I heard the music start.
The song that they were singing
Is ringing in my heart.
We need one another
So I will defend.
Each man as my brother,
Each man as my friend.
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OZYMANDIAS
 met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
---Percy Bysshe Shelly (1792-1822)
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ODE
 e are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying
Or one that is coming to birth.
---Arthur O'Shaughnessy (1844-1881)
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am my beloved's
And my beloved is mine.
Come, my beloved,
Let us go into the open;
Let us lodge among the henna shrubs.
Let us go early to the vinyards;
Let us see if the vine has flowered,
If its blossoms have opened,
If the pomegranates are in bloom.
There I will give my love to you.
The mandrakes yield their fragrance,
At our doors are all choice fruits;
Both freshly picked and long-stored
Have I kept, my beloved, for you.
---The Song of Songs, 7:11-14
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n Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree,
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery......
......The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
---excerpts from "Kubla Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)
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INVICTUS
 ut of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
---W. E. Henley [1849-1903]
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o everything there is a season,
And a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant; and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time for war, and a time for peace.
---Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
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VITAE SUMMA BREVIS SPEM NOS VETAT INCOHARE LONGAM
hey are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate;
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
---Ernest Dowson [1867-1900]
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| DID YOU?
 id you tell your son good night each night
And tuck him into bed?
Did you ask him how his day went--
And then pat him on the head?
Did you ask him to share with you
The things you ought to share,
Or did you take yourself to bed
And leave him to his fare?
Did you let him feel the touch
Of a father's guiding hand,
Or sit by him and talk with him
And help him understand?
Did you give to him the kind of love
That brought you face to face,
Or did you hide your feelings
And withhold a fond embrace?
Did you let him really know you--
Or suppress your pride and joy
Because it seemed so juvenile
To show affection to your boy?
If all these things you have not done
And the years have passed you by,
It's not too late to make amends
And let a tear fall from your eye.
Unless you bare your soul to him
And then embrace the lad,
You'll never know what you have missed
Or what you always had.
And what is more important to you
Of this you can be sure:
If you did all this and did not miss,
His life will be secure.
So even though he's now a man,
Unto yourself be true,
And you will find he does not mind,
Because he too loves you.
---David Randolph Milsten
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h, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat,
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the
earth!
---excerpt from The Ballad of East and West by Rudyard Kipling, 1889
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 ou have captured my heart,
My own, my bride,
You have captured my heart
With one glance of your eyes,
With one coil of your necklace.
How sweet is your love,
My own, my bride!
How much more delightful your love than wine,
Your ointments more fragrant
Than any spice!
Sweetness drops
From your lips, O bride;
Honey and milk
Are under your tongue;
And the scent of your robes
Is like the scent of Lebanon.
A garden locked
Is my own, my bride,
A fountain locked,
A sealed-up spring.
Your limbs are an orchard of pomegranates
And of all luscious fruits,
Of henna and of nard---
Fragrant reed and cinnamon,
With all aromatic woods,
Myrrh and aloes---
All the choice perfumes.
A well of fresh water,
A rill of Lebanon.
---The Song of Songs, 4:9-15
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