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MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD


MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD
by William Wordsworth (1770‑1850)

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.


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MEETING AT NIGHT


MEETING AT NIGHT
Robert Browning (1812-1889)

The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!


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LEDA AND THE SWAN


LEDA AND THE SWAN
William Butler Yeats (1865 – 1939)

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her things caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?


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IS MY TEAM PLOUGHING


IS MY TEAM PLOUGHING
A.E. Housman (1859-1936)

Is my team ploughing,
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?”
Aye, the horses trample,
The harness jingles now;
No change though you lie under
The land you used to plough.
“Is football playing
Along the river shore,
With lads to chase the leather,
Now I stand up no more?”
Aye, the ball is flying,

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I GAVE MYSELF TO HIM


I GAVE MYSELF TO HIM
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

I gave myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way.
The wealth might disappoint,
Myself a poorer prove
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of love.
Depreciate the vision;
But till the merchant buy,
Still fable in the Isles of Spice
The subtle cargoes lie.
At least ’tis mutual risk,
Some found it mutual gain:
Sweet debt of life, each night to owe,
Insolvent every noon.


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Holy Sonnet: Death Be Not Proud


Holy Sonnet: Death Be Not Proud
John Donne

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die


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carry your heart with me


carry your heart with me
E. E Cummings


i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

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BALLAD OF BIRMINGHAM


BALLAD OF BIRMINGHAM
Anonymous

“Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?“
“No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren’t good for a little child.“
“But, mother, I won’t be alone,
Other children will go with me,

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AH, ARE YOU DIGGING ON MY GRAVE


AH, ARE YOU DIGGING ON MY GRAVE
Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

“Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? ‑‑‑planting rue”
—”No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
‘It cannot hurt her now,’ he said,
‘That I should not be true.’“

“Then who is digging on my grave?
My nearest dearest kin?“
‑‑‑Ah, no: they sit and think, ‘What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose attendance
Her spirit from death’s gin.’”

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A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING


A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING
John Donne (1572‑1631)

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
While some of their sad friends do say,
The breath goes now, and some say, no:
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear‑floods, nor sigh‑tempests move,
‘T were profanation of our joys,
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers’ love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter‑assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two,
Thy soul the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.
And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grow erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end, where I begun.


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