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Ask me, why I love you



Ask me, why I love you, dear,

And I will ask the rose

Why it loves the dews of Spring

At the Winters close;

Why the blossoms nectared sweets

Loved by questing bee,

I will gladly answer you,

If they answer me.

 

Henry Longfellow

The Arrow and the Song

I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow it in its flight.

 

I breathed a song into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For who has sight so keen and strong,

That it can follow the flight of song?

 

Long, long afterward, in an oak

I found the arrow, still unbroke;

And the song, from beginning to end,

I found again in the heart of a friend.

 

 

Do You Fear the Wind?

By Hamlin Garland

 

DO you fear the force of the wind,

The slash of the rain?

Go face them and fight them,

Be savage again.

Go hungry and cold like the wolf,

Go wade like the crane:

The palms of your hands will thicken,

The skin of your cheek will tan,

You ll grow ragged and weary and swarthy,

But you ll walk like a man!

Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

 

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

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

 

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

 

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

 

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep



Of easy wind and downy flake.

 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

 

 


Adrift! A little boat adrift!

By Emily Dickinson

 

Adrift! A little boat adrift!

And night is coming down!

Will no one guide a little boat

Unto the nearest town?

 

So Sailors sayon yesterday

Just as the dusk was brown

One little boat gave up its strife

And gurgled down and down.

 

So angels sayon yesterday

Just as the dawn was red

One little boatoerspent with gales

Retrimmed its mastsredecked its sails

Exultant onward sped!

 

 

The Violet

BY JANE TAYLOR

 

Down in a green and shady bed,

A modest violet grew,

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,

As if to hide from view.

 

And yet it was a lovely flower,

Its colours bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower,

Instead of hiding there,

 

Yet there it was content to bloom,

In modest tints arrayed;

And there diffused its sweet perfume,

Within the silent shade.

 

Then let me to the valley go,

This pretty flower to see;

That I may also learn to grow

In sweet humility.


 


Appendix 2. POEMS FOR EXTENDED COMMENTARY

 

 

Love And Death by George Gordon Byron

 

I watched thee when the foe was at our side,

Ready to strike at him or thee and me

Were safety hopeless rather than divide

Aught with one loved save love and liberty.

 

I watched thee on the breakers where a rock

Received our prow and all was storm and fear,

And bade thee cling to me through every shock;

This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.

 

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,

Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground,

When overworn with watching neer to rise

From thence if thou and early grave hadst found.

 

The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall,

And men and nature reeled as if with wine.

Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?

For thee. Whose safety first prove for? Thine.

 

And when convulsive throes denied my breath

The faintest utterance to my fading thought,

To thee to thee even in the gasp of death

My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.

 

Thus much and more; and yet thou lovst me not,

And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will

Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot

To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.

 

 

Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare

 

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

 





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